Going Mortal
by Siguror
Summary: Silly story where Harry Potter was raised in secret as the ultimate anti Death Eater living weapon by Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black. Lord Voldemort finally killed once and for all, Harry is now free from his duty, and fulfill his long life dream, enrolling as a normal sixth year student at Hogwarts to study actual Ministry approved Witchcraft and Wizardry.
1. Harry Potter and the first Breakfast

**Chapter 1: Harry Potter and the first Breakfast**

Did you ever stop and consider for a moment that it all could come to an end? The fresh mornings on the way to school, endless afternoons spent in a warm class while the rain sings autumn's carol all the way to christmas and soon the summer is already over. Your stomach's fuzzy once again but not because you're back to school, but because you aren't: there won't ever be anymore classrooms, no teacher, no classmates, except in your dreams, once in a while, where you forgot to turn your homework and the morning saves you from the Professor wrath, except you're not sure if you're happy or sad that it's over when you head out in the cold morning; you're a grown up now.

Of course you know that nothing ever lasts, haven't you learnt that already? Our childhood lay in the past, the teens years blinked away and look, the bakery where we used to buy our indulgences has closed. We're adults now, we've reached our final destination, except we never did.

But what about the cobblestones in Diagon Alley? Will they turn to dust as well? Centuries of hoofs, boots, shoes and robes, grinding the stone, heels to heels, dust to dust; until we run out of stones as well.

There's no escaping this fate, unless of course, you had a magic wand. As it turns out, you can buy one next corner, on the left after the lampost shaped like a coffee grinder, Ollivander's shop still stands, and I remember when I had mine so many years ago. Honing wandcrafting skills generation after generation since 382 BC, Ollivanders will provide you with the most refined craft for your magical art. A _flick'n swish_ and the whole road is brand new. That's the trick with us wizards: our cities can grow to the moon, should we wish so, even reach the stars, never age. We endure, survive and prevail.

_Ollivanders — South Side, Diagon Alley — Fine Wands for fine magic._

* * *

Mr Arthur Weasley skipped through the advertisements page and turned to the economic section of the Daily Prophet, dated 1 August 1998, oblivious to the chaos that passed like a storm through his kitchen. Perhaps he was used to it, perhaps a countless nights without sleep made the amount of care he had to give spare.

Not a second after his eldest son, Bill, had gotten up after grabbing a cup of coffee, Fred Weasley took the chair and offered it to his girlfriend Angelina before Ron could sit down, despite arriving first. Then when Bill came back with his fiancee Fleur and an empty cup of tea. Charlie made an apparition, whispered something to his father's ear, hugged Mrs Weasley, summoned a crate of wine from the cellar, snatched a couple of muffins Ron had set his eye on and vanished through the door. Then Hermione Granger got George seat, next to her, Percy got up, grabbed the small mountain of parchment he was working on, freeing one seat and a quarter of the table surface, Ron finally sat down, but before he could touch the muffins, his sister Ginny came down and Mrs Weasley asked him to leave the seat for his sister since she had to leave early and _if you were hungry you simply had to wake up earlier and I don't want to hear about it Ron! Hermione, Ginny, we're leaving at ten._

"They sure don't lose much time," commented Arthur to his wife. "Flourish and Bott is back in business as well — here Hermione, take the muffins, they're with oat. Molly dear, are you sure it's a good idea to go shopping today?"

"I rather go now while everyone is busy than wait until the end of the month and there's nothing left," said Molly while conjuring a batch of sausage from her pan to the table. "Butter is here, Hermione dear. Besides, you said that Diagon Alley is safe now, isn't it."

"It is, it is, Molly…" Arthur flipped through the page and ducked as a sausage flew by and mumbled, "no magic on breakfast."

"Sorry dad," said Fred and he got up. "I can't wait to get out once the Lockdown is lifted. What are they waiting for anyway?"

Percy's head emerged from the door frame. "The Ministry wants to make sure to take every necessary step carefully when removing the enchantment," he said. "As the Minister said, the safety of our underage student is our priority."

"But we're not underage!" protested Fred. "Dad, how come we have to stay in?!"

"Because we said so!" responded Mrs Weasley. "And it's only one hour, it will be over very soon," she added gently for Angelina and Hermione who hadn't been able to go back to their family that summer in a row and were eager to meet them before going back to Hogwarts.

It looked like Fred was about to sit down and argue for the remaining hour if needed but Ron had taken the seat, planted his feet on the floor and was busy stockpiling sausage and grilled mushrooms in his plate, daring Fred to try and kick him out. This time, Fred didn't, and, since Angelina had finished eating, they left the room together.

"Can you pass me the butter, Hermione?"

"A moment, Ron."

"Come on, hurry up."

"I'm using it, Ron," she said, showing her plate.

"Who put butter on a muffin anyway?"

"I do," she said simply, now taking a deliberate long stab in the butter and slowly dragged the knife across said muffin to demonstrate her point.

"But it doesn't go well with it, does it?! Come on," he repeated. "I'm starving."

"But what if I like to butter my muffin?" responded Hermione, shielding the butter plate from Ron's attempt to catch it.

"Will you hurry? Do it with magic, you're a witch for Christ's sake!"

"I like to butter my muffin without any wand thank you very much."

A confused argument ensued where Ron tried to convince Hermione to use a spell he had supposedly learnt and Hermione kept evading it until Ron almost stabbed Hermione's muffin with his wand. At that point, Ginny, who had been carefully watching the two of them argue, wondered why Ron was so interested in Hermione's muffin; George Weasley opened his mouth but Mrs Weasley was first.

"George, please don't answer that, Ginny shut up and get ready and Ron, please do leave Hermione alone, you're not twelve anymore!" she said and that was the end of it.

* * *

Very far away from here, another breakfast was taking place. Now, being far away is a very relative notion. For example, the Burrow is not that far from Twelve Grimmauld Place. A three hour drive will get you there. A train ride can get you there faster, depending of the Muggle Prime Minister. And if you're not afraid of planes, a broom ride is even quicker. And with the help of floo powder or from a talented Wizard or Witch, travelling there from here is as easy as taking a step in the next room. However, no amount of magic could reduce the distance between what is the life at the Burrow and the life at Twelve Grimmauld Place.

There, very far away from the Burrow where Mr Arthur Weasley was reading his journal, our story truly begins, and the final chapter of Harry Potter's life ends, but we're in luck, because it's only a mere chapter that ends, not the whole book; there is an epilogue still, which can be as long as we wish, for the final page has not been written. Of course, the anxious reader might take fright upon embarking on a journey with no goal at sight, and yes, it is quite possible the author will fail to deliver a satisfying conclusion, that he will be a poor guide, and perhaps abandon you before reaching the safe shores where the promised treasure is buried: a final point. But no adventures is ever safe, and if you worry that nothing is written in advance, take a look at young Harry Potter whose future is no longer written in a prophecy and yet happily embrace the unknown, eager to start his new life, therefore we shall wrap up this introduction quickly, because as you will soon learn, Harry really does deserve it.

Until now, Harry Potter story had been set in stone — more precisely a glowing orb shelved with dust in a corner of the Department of Secrets — by a defrocked seer, half-fraud half-charlatan, who, after an afternoon spent with a bottle of Sherry, had been visited by the Voice of Narration; Harry would have to kill Voldemort, murderer of his parents, or die by his hand. Since that moment, Albus Dumbledore, who had conveniently been the sole recipient of this tale, made a resolution that he knew would take everything from him: to prevent the Boy-Who-Lived to become the Boy-Who-Ends-Up-Dying-After-All.

And Dumbledore's plan succeeded. After hiding baby Potter from the Ministry of Magic and public eyes with his Muggle relatives, he worked days and night, until the boy's destiny was revealed to him. At Harry eleven's birthday, Albus, Hagrid, and Sirius Black — Harry's godfather falsely accused of murder broke out of prison by Dumbledore himself — went to meet him, and explained it all, that his parents were wizards, that he was supposed to go to Hogwarts, but couldn't, because he had to kill the ghost of his parent's murderer, except that the ghost was currently unkillable, which was kind of a bummer really, because he was already dead _but-not-completely_, that he should be resurrected to die again, _not Harry, not like Jesus Christ_, and also Harry would have to train and live in secret in the wizard's secret world, and all of that was highly illegal, and they could all go to jail if the authorities ever found that out, because on top of harbouring a fugitive, they would all commit massive fraud and embezzlement to fund their secret war.

The boy took it pretty well all things considered, probably because it was a better choice than staying with his cousin. Indeed, it was around that time Aunt Petunia had yielded to the school nurse and reluctantly agreed to put some vegetables on her large son's large plate. The transition went better as she expected since Dudley quickly understood the tactical opportunities cabbage and sprout provided in his crusade against his frail cousin. Biological warfare can be nasty, and Harry didn't think twice when offered a way out of Dudley's fart. Then, for five years, he endured it all, the training, the privations, the punishment, the pain, the trials, sleeping on the floor, waking up before dawn, surviving alone for a month in the forest, coming up with a counter curse while being cursed, weekly wizarding duels against Albus Dumbledore, the regular fight with his godfather. At age thirteen he was thrown in a fighting pit in a back alley of Knockturn against savage wizards and devious magical beasts. At age fourteen, there was not a single bone in his body that hadn't been broken once and he had learnt how to repair each of them. Around that time the assassination missions against active Death Eater began. At age fifteen, with Albus Dumbledore, he went on a hunt for Horcruxes and destroyed them one after the other, include the one in himself, with the creative help of a conflicted Dementor. That event was the worst moment of Harry's life so far, except for the time he had to sleep in the same room as his cousin during after a leak in his cupboard; Dudley never liked broccoli as much as that day... The trauma still haunts Harry: some injuries close up but never heal completely.

The day he turned sixteen, Harry Potter went out to kill the Dark Lord.

At his feet, Voldemort's body was judgement day. For a day and a night, spells had cracked and curses gushed through the sky so loud the damned rose from the earth, hell rained down and heavens were torn apart until finally Harry had dealt the finishing blow. By then, there was nothing human left from Voldemort, except that he was dead and Harry wept as he buried him in an unmarked grave right where he had fallen.

When he was back to the headquarter at Twelve Grimmauld Place, Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black were waiting for him, but before they could speak, he informed them _the deed was don_e and he needed to sleep, except he didn't go for the basement, to his training room and the pallet he used to sleep on, but headed upstairs, picked a room, one with a large bed, and without casting a single ward or protection spell, or checking the floor for traps, or raising his mental wards in case legilimens invasion, or meditating, or doing his workout routine, or replenishing his potions vials from their supplies, or using any visualization exercises allowing him to anticipate any danger with at least three different responses including killing the enemy with his own hairs, he fell asleep before hitting the mattress.

* * *

The next morning Harry Potter was greeted by a ray of sunshine instead of murder attempt which was a nice change for starters. Also the bed sheets were the most comfortable material his skin ever touched. If Harry ever had known a mother's embrace, he would have still chosen the mattress over it. If he'd known a lover's embrace, it would be a close tie. Little did he know that it was filled with feathers taken from youngs Hippogriphs and Golden Snidgets — now extinct — a practice deemed so barbaric it was outlawed in thirty nine magical countries, and the possession of a single feather could have thrown you in Azkaban for year. Even touching one was still a punishable offence. This particular furniture, including the cushion had also been imbued with the last breath of a dying phoenix, making the lot worth more than half the content of every Gringotts vault, declared or not: inheritance wars had been waged over it and family torn apart, husband murdered and children disowned…On the other hand, the thread count was off the roof and Harry had never slept so well in his life, therefore we can say it was worth it and agree not to tell a word to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As they say, snitches get caught in Quidditch, then spent most of their life locked in a box; you've been warned.

When he came down for breakfast — and this time he didn't have to fight a troll to get it — Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black were already there, or, more likely, never left the room at all; Sirius's loud snore filled the dull kitchen, his head tucked in his arm surrounded by empty bottles while Dumbledore had allowed his eyes to rest a few hours ago.

"Good morning!" chanted Harry.

Albus Dumbledore didn't open his eyes at once. "Good morning to you, Harry," he said and fumbled inside his beard because his half moon spectacles were stuck in it. "How are you feeling today?"

"Excellent!" he said and poured himself a large cup of tea while Dumbledore adjusted his glass.

"Hmmr," grumped Sirius and he attempted to wipe the drool off the table before giving up as his sleeves were still wet from the previous night libations. Unfortunately there is no spell for hangovers, but legends do tell that the Noble and Ancient family of Blacks have discovered a portion for it: dragon's horn powder, pearl oil, a dash of cinnamon and two large portions of brandy. Sirius was out of dragon's horn powder and couldn't find the pearl oil and didn't like cinnamon, but he cleverly replaced them with leftover butterbeer and a large swing of icyvodka for the same effect.

"Harry, we didn't have the opportunity to talk about what happened yesterday," said Dumbledore while Sirius was taking his antifogmatic medication. "I'm sure there are many things you want to say."

"Not really. Our plan worked. It was brilliant. I won. Voldemort's dead and buried. It's all over. End of story."

"Indeed, we've sent word about your victory all night," said Dumbledore gravely. "We received information as well, most Death Eaters have been captured or surrendered once they felt the death of their master..."

"Good to know."

"A few fled but the Ministry sent his Aurors after them. The Order sent some wizards as well."

"I'm sure they will find them in no time."

"...there were celebrations all night long, everywhere in the country. Here too, members of the Order of the Phoenix passed here too. Everyone knows what you did Harry, that you vanquished it once again, and they're very grateful."

"True, true..."

"This time, I'm sure they'll give you a national Holiday. Victory day. Or Harry Potter day."

"And they should!" said Sirius, finally out of the fog, "because it's all thanks to you. All these years, you were fighting for them, no matter how hard. For Lily and James!"

He raised his mug, drank, and grimaced. Leftover liquor makes a poor breakfast.

"Indeed, indeed," commented Harry, absent minded.

"All these years of sacrifices, of efforts, of training, well, it all paid off!" continued Sirius. He really wanted to congratulate his nephew, but it seems unable to find the right word. "You faced the prophecy and you came out alive… the cost was high, I know… what was done to you... what we did — what I did — it was necessary. It was your only chance but it doesn't mean it was right. Do you understand? We all did what we needed to save everyone, even if we didn't like it, it was so you could survive."

"Of course."

"Harry," said Albus Dumbledore. "You've but solely concentrated on killing Voldemort for the last five years. It would be perfectly understandable if you were overwhelmed by now."

"I'm fine," repeated Harry. "Voldemort's dead, it's a good thing, isn't it ?"

"Indeed, indeed, but I have come to realise during my long life that we don't always react the way we had expected when the things we wanted most finally occurs. Defeating an arch nemesis can yield… _contradictory _feeling. Joy, grief, guilt, relief, resentment perhaps. After all, in a way, Voldemort was a large part of your life and now is gone. "

"He sure is," said Harry with a proud smile. "There wasn't much left of him in the end! And now, life goes on."

Sirius and Albus glanced awkwardly at each other. Harry did not react the way they expected and the godfather was getting increasingly worried over his nephew.

"But there's a difference between surviving and living and now… and now…" Sirius' voice trailed off and he launched an interrogative glance at Dumbledore who replied with an imperceptible node, "Harry, is there anything you need right now?"

"Yes… Sausages!"

"What?"

"Can you pass me the sausages?" He pointed at the plate the House Elf Kreacher had brought at the end of the table, "I'm starving."

"Of-of course," said Sirius and he passed him the plate. "But Harry, I meant, after all you went through, you've been to hell and back, is there anything you want? Anything you need?"

"Yes in fact there is," said Harry gravely and Sirius braced himself for the bitter rant he knew was about to come. "Sirius!… I need the marmalade as well. And the muffins," he added, noticing the pile on the other end of the table. "I don't think I ever tried these."

Sirius obliged once again and raised an eyebrow in a way that conveyed his opinion to Dumbledore: _he's in denial._

Dumbledore scrunched his nose, meaning _Give him time_ — Sirius was still worried.

"Harry, Harry…" he said. "What I meant is... if there anything else you want, apart from breakfast, you just have to ask. Anything at all. We could go out later, you don't have to hide anymore. You are free now. I'm sure there's many people who want to meet you after what you did…"

Harry shrugged, "Nah, I'm alright. I don't think I want anything other than breakfast right now. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day after all!"

Sirius shook his moustache to Dumbledore — _We broke him_. "You can do everything you want. Get out, travel across Britain... travel the world even. You can get your own place. A nice wizard's cottage or a muggle penthouse. You could meet people your age… Money's not a problem, I'm sure. Anything you wanted to do but never could, it's possible now."

Dumbledore surreptitiously confirmed to Sirius it with a subtle crease on his forehead. The embezzlement scheme had worked way beyond his imagination thanks to the Ministry of Magic sheer ineptitude. Incidentally, since Dumbledore had slipped his puppet-master fingers way up the Public Treasury purse, public funds had been so well managed and the budget was finally balanced, something that never happened in history — be it Wizard's or Muggle's history. Also there was not a single bathroom in Hogwarts that hadn't been renovated with a brand new Jacuzzi made of solid gold. The gold was a bit over the top but even the Headmaster ran out of ideas on how to launder the money, and now, well, they had earned themself a bit of fun.

As for the Ministry _Master of Jewels,_ he never suspected a thing and saw a validation of his own principle in life, _don't think too much about anything and everything will sort itself out eventually_.

"I'm happy with the room upstairs," said Harry and he decided it would be his room from now on.

"What if we spent a visit to the Dursleys?" suggested Sirius with a complicit smile. "Want to tell them that you save them and save the world, right? Give them a few words about how they treated you? I sure wouldn't mind punching that ugly doughnut Dudley? Or curse your Aunt and Uncle." He launched a side glance at Dumbledore who said _I can handle the Ministry on that_ with a wriggle of the beard in their secret non-verbal language. "I'm sure it can be arranged, no one could blame you after what happened..."

"Nope, I'm good."

Sirius frowned. Dumbledore interpreted this secret message and passed him the butter, but it turned out, the frown was just him frowning. His nephew was badly depressed and he had to break through him. Through the carapace of pain and resentment. How could he ever face James if he failed again, after not being able to protect Harry, not being able to fight for him...

"Speaking about your old room, in the basement, the training rooms… after all that happened there… We could get rid of it, clear the bad memory. Like we did with Azkaban…"

A red gleam flickered on Sirius Black eyes for a second has memory passed by. During one of their missions, he had learnt first handed the therapeutic quality of fire. A Forbidden spell fueled by years of repressed rage can do wonders.

Once again Harry shrugged. "Wouldn't that be dangerous if that spread? Friendfyre is a very dangerous spell, Sirius. Do you remember when we destroyed Gaunt's ring with it too? You almost lost your moustache!" Harry chuckled on that memory. "I guess you're right though we don't need that anymore. Didn't it used to be a wine cellar before? You could get that back."

"A cellar? Is that what you want? We could get a couple of bottles for sure..." said Sirius feebly.

"Sirius!" exclaimed Harry, "I'm not of age yet! It wouldn't be appropriate."

"But I have to say, Harry, you're more mature than people your age, Harry, even more than many adults," said Dumbledore gravely.

"I don't know anything about wine though. And Sirius always said wine was only good for Muggles and French..."

"Still, we could order a few bottles once I'm rehabilitated," said Sirius, still unsure how he ended up stuck in a conversation about winery because it was clearly not what he wanted to talk about. "Please! Harry!" said Sirius and his voice broke. "I can see something bothering you. Tell me. I can take it. I deserve it…"

Harry looked at him and frowned. "Something is bothering me, as a matter of fact. Are you sure you want to know? I don't want you to take it the wrong way..."

Sirius shook his head.

"Well, then, if you must know… It's about your moustache. I'm not sure you can pull it off. Makes you look like a bad guy. It's not going to help you clear your name with the Ministry of Magic."

Sirius snapped. "Harry! We trained you like a child soldier! It was cruel and inhuman! You're traumatized! And now that Voldemort's gone, you're severely depressed! You've got to want to do something in your life now!"

Harry stopped chewing from a moment, reflecting on the juiciness of the sausage mixed with muffins bits. The mental discipline he had cultivated so far had prevented did not allow him any thought that was not necessary for his mission. Yet there was one thing, so, one desire he could never stifle completely, the one that could finally get out.

He turned to Dumbledore and stared straight into the Headmaster blue eyes. "I want to go to Hogwarts. Starting next September. I want to go to school."


	2. The importance of first impressions

Chapter 2: Harry Potter and the importance of firsts impressions

On his first night at Hogwarts School and Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter dreamt that he was dead; but the dream wasn't about the afterlife, heaven or hell nor the underworld. His body had died, right there on the third bed of the room he shared with his new classmates on the fourth floor of the Gryffindor tower, yet his spirit still inhabited it, overstaying his stay on this earthly realm. As he woke up, Harry couldn't open his eyes, no matter how hard he tried, the eyelid over them remained sealed.

"Am I alive or am I dead?" he thought. Except Hogwarts was the most protected place in the country and Harry was probably the most powerful wizard at that moment therefore it was hardly possible that anything could kill him, therefore he dismissed the idea. He tried to sit up and realize he couldn't feel his arms, nor his legs, nor anything else. His lungs had stopped working, or perhaps he was deaf too, because he did not hear his breath. Paralyzed. He focused his attention on his head. That, he could feel, trapped in his own skull.

"Here I am." That was a start. For years he had slept wand-in-hand, if only he could regain control of his right arm, and draw a counter spell... Except his wand was on his nightstand, because now he was a normal student and most normal students put their wands away at night. He'd have to resort to wandless magic to draw his wand back to him, not his favourite option, because it is quite messy and unstable. Of course, there was also the possibility that he was not in Hogwarts right now, but kidnapped, stashed in a pocket world or even buried under the lake; perhaps he was standing, perhaps he was floating, none of that he could feel, because all connections to the rest of his body had been severed.

"First things first, where am I?" He focused on his eyeballs, the way they were enclosed in his skull and formed the words in his mind. Left, right, he could move them again. Moment of truth, now. He formed the spell Dumbledore had taught him so many years ago, and after trying three times, his vision came back, cutting through his eyelids and the night, Harry stared at the roof of his bed. It was a relief, he was still there at Hogwarts. Now he could either work on getting his voice back or his wand back. He weighed his options. Voice would be tricky, but he could call for help, but was it such a good idea? Perhaps it was all an elaborate prank, it's not as if Harry knew what were the customs here and what if his roommates were in on it? Better not take the chance.

In his mind he conjured a silver thread, he attached one end on his right eye, the other end he pushed through his throat, his shoulder, his harm and his hand. Very slowly, he moved his eye to the left, pulling on the thread and felt a resistance. On the corner of his eyes, his hand had closed in a fist. He moved his eye to the right to release his fist. On his other eye, he attached a thread that went over his bed curtains rod and to his wrist, so that he could move his arm up and down. It was enough to hold a wand.

Like a puppet master, controlling his own flesh muscles and bones, Harry raised his arm, and slowly moved it away, like a crane, and landed his hand over his wand. He had to be very careful now, as not to make the wand fall on the floor. He closed his fingers while moving his arm up, but the wand slid off. He tried again and missed completely. On the third try, he grabbed it and moved his arm too quickly and he knew he'd make a mistake. The wand slid off and fell half on the nightstand, half over, tipping dangerously. Harry made a ring with his fingers and thumb, and balanced his arm left on right, as if he was wanking. Once the wand was inside his hand, he closed his fist very tightly and felt the magic rushing in, and immediately, he conjured hundred of silvery thread and attached each muscle and articulation and bones to his skull, regaining control of his body.

For the next hours, Harry tried over and over again to trace a healing enchantment, but his movements were too abrupt and the spell failed over and over until, exhausted, he fell asleep. When he woke up in the morning, for real this time, he had no recollection of his ordeal. Perhaps it was a dream, because Harry got up in ease with no worry in mind and prepared for his first day at school. The last month had passed in a blink of an eye.

* * *

And what a month! You wouldn't believe how much can be achieved in one month when the heart is set to it. In only one month, Cornelius Fudge managed to organize a coalition and save his seat for the next year at least, the Head of the Auror Department brought another twelve Death Eaters to justice, the village of Hogsmeade finished reparation, including the southern bridge — that would have been done earlier should the wizarchitect have been more accommodating, but one does not go against the vision of an artist — and most of Diagon Alley shops had reopened. In the meantime, while the Wizarding World was ready to move on, Sirius Black sobered up, Ronald Weasley lost hope in love, Hermione Granger lost hope in Ron, and Harry Potter hoped time could get faster as he was itching to start class. Alas, for muggle and wizard alike, time does not speed up or slow down; in fact the speed of time has been measured to be exactly one second per second, hence time, forever constant, is never lost, always spent. Perhaps Harry Potter was wasting his time wishing it away, but spending afternoons in a small courtyard of a private apartment in the heart of London, under blue sky, being served unlimited amount of Wheezing Witch Hazel, a very old fashioned long drink, might not be such a bad way to waste time, in the end. A bad way to waste time is wishing lost love would return, like Ronald Weasley did. As the scripture states, where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Broke and heartbroken, Ron was twice as poor and Harry Potter, who never knew love so far, was on his way to Gringotts with Hagrid to retrieve money from his family vault.

The last time he was officially here, he had been eleven and they had made him sign a couple hundreds of parchment he didn't understand. This time, he was greeted with a small goblin who offered him congratulations for his victory over the Dark Lord, pointing out that wizarding wars are terrible for business; and as you know Mr Potter, the Gringotts is forever in debt in you for saving our stocks, and we extend our eternal gratitude on behalf of the whole company, and please be aware that the expression we're in debt to you is only a matter of speaking, and not an oral agreement for paying you, Mr Potter a certain amount of money to we, Gringotts Bank Inc or provides any services at a reduced rate and for any and all reclamation, you, Mr Potter recognize that the Goblins Chamber of Commerce is the only qualified arbitrary instance and limits any damage claim compensation to seven knut...

"Thank you, Griphook," replied Harry. "I've come to visit my vault — the Potter vault that is."

Griphook frowned — whatever the grimace meant, no wizard is really able to interpret goblins expression anyway. "I'm afraid I can't do that Mr Potter."

"Why is that? It's my vault, isn't it. I've got the key, see."

From his pocket, he pulled the large golden key Dumbledore had given him the day before and presented it to the goblin. The goblin closed his arms.

"Perhaps you do not remember, Mr Potter, you were so very young after all, but you waived all right to your family vault last time you went there and signed to transfer it to Mr Dumbledore. As such, he is the sole wizard able to manage or access the funds. I wasn't sure if it was in you best interest but… the contracts you signed are ironclad..."

Griphook assured Harry to be very sorry about the situation his smirk told otherwise.

Harry turned to Hagrid who looked uncomfortable. "Is that right Hagrid?"

"Well, Harry, you see, war is costin' a lot of money… and we needed gold… without the Minister putting his nose in out stuff…"

The giant wizard was squirming awkwardly under Harry's gaze until he pulled a massive roll of parchment from his overcoat.

"Eh, found it !" he said with apparent relief and gave it to Griphook. "Though I'd lost it, would have been in trouble for sure."

The goblin read it thoroughly and his expression changed completely. Without a smirk, but with the utmost deference, he addressed Harry.

"It says here, that Mr Dumbledore renounce his right over the vault and transfer it back to you, Mr Potter, should you accept it."

"I do," said Harry.

"Then it's done," said Griphook as he filed the paper. "Mr Dumbledore has managed your asset with much fiduciary acumen, Mr Potter. Perhaps you should convince him to work here, should he decide to relinquish his position of Headmaster at Hogwarts. Your assets have tripled over the years and would yield quite a sum should you decide to liquidate them. Of course, I would advise against that given the current rates…."

"I doubt Dumbledore would leave Hogwarts, Griphook, but I'll tell him," said Harry and together with Hagrid, they followed the small lantern the small clerk was carrying through a small tunnel, close enough to not get lost in the dark, far enough so they could speak without being overheard..

"Good you remember his name, Harry, even after all these years," said Hagrid quietly. "It's a mark of a great Wizard remembering a goblin's name. People usually look down on them, but not you, your mum and dad 'be proud."

"Hagrid," asked Harry politely. "What's a goblin?"

"What do you mean? Goblins Harry, go-blin, you just talked to one right now. They're the one managing Gringotts!"

"Ahhhhhh," said Harry loudly as comprehension dawned on him," is it what they are called? Goblins? I thought they were called griphooks."

"No," replied Hagrid, looking rapidly around him, in case anyone heard Harry's faux-pas, "he's a goblin, like you're a wizard, but his name is Griphook like your name is Harry."

"Do Goblins have names!?" exclaimed Harry loudly. "I didn't know that!"

"Not so loud Harry! Of course they've got names! And they are very proud of it. Called them wrong once, almost got axed."

"Then we shouldn't stay too long, because I have called every goblin I've seen Griphook since we sent foot in here. They are probably pretty pissed."

And indeed, Hagrid quickly noticed that every goblin they passed launched nasty looks towards them and he looked a bit unsure when Griphook — the actual Griphook — invited them on the rusty cart on top rusty rails with a vicious smile.

As it turned out, Goblins have more interest in gold than pride, and were not eager to start a war with Albus Dumbledore protegee; Mr Dumbledore was, after all, an inestimable client, or to be more accurate a very estimable one; about ninety nine thousand fifty hundred and fifty three galleons, twelves sickles and twenty three nuts that he paid every semester in exchange of their discretion while he diverted Ministry funds. Still, Hagrid was very relieved when Harry got his money for the year and they were shown the way out by the goblin clerk rather quickly.

Albus Dumbledore was without a doubt the greatest wizard of his generation — and many more. Not only did he excel in all magical arts, but also did he possess a virtue that wizards often overlooked: wisdom. While the wizarding community of the U.K would praise him, Harry, for bringing Lord Voldemort's down, all the most important wizards and witches would know Albus Dumbledore had been instrumental in his victory. Everybody knew that all would come for Dumbledore's advice and the old Warlock was always generous of counsel to those who came to seek it. They would come to Hogwarts in the middle of the night, and suddenly they'd realised how little they had grown, despite their success, fame, recognition and office; feeling like little kids called at theHeadmaster office, bowing before the paternal figure. Harry read it in some journal, once, that all wizards of Britain have two fathers: their own and Albus Dumbledore. All wizards except for him who had none; he was an orphan after all.

Albus Dumbledore had not been a father to Harry though. From Albus Dumbledore, Harry did see the wise side, the one everyone else knew. And the other side as well. The side that few knew. The side that did not look like a gentle grandfather that guided you through life, like a stake you could grow on. No, he saw the side that would trim you into shape and mercilessly sharpen you, like a spear, for a single purpose: to win a war.

Leaving the building, Harry was torn off his thoughts by the bright light and he followed Hagrid through the shops, for his furniture. Harry was surprised at first that students weren't required to buy their own knives, daggers, sneakoscope, mashing marbles, muffling boots, emergency cracking sticks, tattooing quill for runic protection...

"Blimey Harry! Why would you need any of that?" exclaimed Hagrid after Harry shared his doubts about the list. "Hogwarts the safest place in the world! The only thing you need is the dragon leather gloves, to handle poisonous potions ingredients — the Quidditch armor if you decide to play Quidditch, two additional pairs of gloves for Botanics, as well as enchanted protectives goggles, and a thing or two for the Care for Magical Creature but that's only because the Ministry is full of wusses, really we hadn't any of that when I was you age and I'm still alive n' well!"

In the end, Harry brought a set of simple quills, a harmless pair of scissors, a tricky zester and your usual potions ingredients — peppermint, poppy head, pastora sage, fluxweed, parsley leaf, snake oil, murtlap fat, dried kumquat, banished poltergeist salts, carrots, beetles, two and a half pound of minced meat, dried tomatoes, garlic, until he realised Hagrid had messed up the lists with his shopping list for supper instead and they had to start over. After that, Harry set his eye on a large cauldron made of thick gold; the best product according to the clerk, imbued with self cleaning and the anti-spill metal itself was a magical alloy made of gold and advertised to protect you from anything you could fear in a potion class; all that for a very affordable cost considering the quality of the product. When Harry bought it, despite Hagrid reservation, little did he know that the cauldron would provide no protection against the great peril he would soon face, no matter how shiny the cauldron was. Then he passed the Magical Menagerie, noticed a sad owl and took her with him.

Back at Twelve Grimmauld Place, tea was being served in the inner garden with Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black, who was still unsure about his nephew's integration into the student body.

"I don't know much about the world outside," explained Harry, "but still I need magical education from a certified school of magic. I want to be a productive member of society."

"But we've taught you everything we know," said Sirius."You're the most talented wizard of this generation, there's nothing you can't do!"

"Sure, sure," said Harry, "I had to learn a few tricks to kill Voldemort. But none of them are actually useful to get a job, are they?"

Sirius looked at him in disbelief.

"Hear me out," continued Harry, "because I thought a lot about it. I know I can't live off my parent's money forever, at some point I'll have to get a job, but what kind of jobs could I do? It's not like I could do anything muggle related. I can't teach magic either, because I never graduated. I never did any sport, I'm not that good at math, I don't know anything about administration, I can cook, but not anything you'd actually want to eat, I'm not licensed to Apparate, most of the spells I know are destructive, or outlawed, or both! I actually don't know anything!"

"That's very wise of you to say, Harry," said Albus Dumbledore, "the wizard who knows how little he knows, knows the secret of everything."

Harry accepted the compliment, as it was indeed, a wise thing to say. On the other hand, Albus Dumbledore had a stable job with two month paid leave, staff housing and great benefits as the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Harry had none of that and spent a moment imagining himself arguing to get hired at Ollivanders, basically the only shop he knew, with no knowledge of sales and terrible math ability. Knowing the secrets of everything is not a very marketable skill in the workplace nowadays.

It was classic Dumbledore. Very wise, often subtle, rarely applicable in real life situations. Sirius Black too knew a lot of proverbs, but they were all dog related. It may look like trash, smell like trash and come from trash, but you've still got to eat when you're hungry enough, and it doesn't taste any better, but you get used to it... It was more down to earth, but Harry never managed to become an Animagus.

Forcing himself back into the conversation, Harry insisted he'd enroll as a first year, bringing up the fact that it would be his first year in a proper school. Dumbledore pointed out he knew more than many teachers already and Sirius insisted he should be with students his age; in the end, it was decided he would attend sixth year's class except on subjects like Astronomy, Divination or Arithmancy and Human Biology where he would take a crash course first.

* * *

One month later, first years of Hogwarts had a very unusual first year accompanying them from the train to the school throughout the lake. He was older, taller, and on his shoulder, carried a snowy owl with eyes as sad as him, and while he didn't talk much with the other, he went directly to Hagrid once they boarded off the train and shook his hand like a grown up. At first, they thought he was a teacher, but it didn't make any sense: he wasn't that old. Then, adding to the confusion, he waited with them for the sorting ceremony.

On the other side of the Great Hall, under thousands of golden candles hovering in the air, a very small third year name Dennis Creevey sat next to an empty chair and was about to enjoy an intense session of brooding when something caught his ear. On the other side of the table, the sixth years were at it again. How these troublemakers could become prefects beyond him, but again, coming from an incapable school, nothing could surprise him anymore.

"So Ron," said Seamus Finnigan, "What's up with you and Granger?"

Ron took a quick glance at Hermione, sitting on the other side of the table with his sister Ginny and classmates Lavender and Parvati. He mumbled "nothing" then turned his head to the entrance hall.

"Sorry you broke up again, I think I'll take my chances then."

"Good luck with that," retorted Ron.

"Really, you're okay with that?"

"No!"

"Oh! Alright mate. Just tell me if you're not over her… I think I'll ask Lavender out then."

Ron went red to the ears, opened his mouth to protest, closed it, and turned his back to Seamus once again.

"What? Her too! Come on Ron! You can't keep them all!"

"Shut up," replied Ron. He glanced behind his shoulder. "I'm trying to get a better look."

"Everyone knows you had a good look at them already..."

"Not them, him," said Ron, making a gesture towards the other side of the room.

Seamus followed his finger, Ron was pointing to the flock of first years.

"What!" he shouted, choking on his pumpkin juice, "are you serious?"

"Shut it, I said."

"Dude, I didn't know you were into blokes, and that's fine but first years? Definitely not ok!"

"What?" exclaimed Ron.

"I'm just saying, I can set you up with Finch-Fletcher, I've heard he goes both ways, and since he had Granger too, allegedly, that makes you brother of d—"

"Will you shut up!" Ron bashed his hand on the table to stop Seamus' infamous suggestion. "I'm talking about Harry Potter. My dad told me he's going to Hogwarts this year! I'm trying to spot him."

"Harry Potter? Whaaat? Are you mad?" exclaimed Seamus. "What would he even do at Hogwarts? The man killed You-Know-Who! He sure doesn't need to go to school."

"Why not?" said Ginny, suddenly popping between the two of them. "Dad said he's born in ninety eighty. He should be fifteen or sixteen maybe. Maybe he'll be in my class." She winked.

"Ginny! What do you want?" asked Ron. "Go away!"

His sister had just shoved him aside to sit between him and Seamus.

"Just passing a word, brother," said Ginny with a grin, then, she whispered loudly to his ear so that half the Gryffindor table could hear ."Lavender said she's ready to take you back if you stop behaving like a little boy." And she left with a devious laugh, as Ron was about to tell her off very rudely.

Ron looked up, Hermione was looking away, he sighed, caught Lavender's gaze and though he was one of the tallest boy on the table, he seemed to deflate; and perhaps it was the end of summer blues that hit him that moment, because suddenly september didn't bring as much hope as he thought.

"If it's any help," said Seamus, "I think all your girls problems are going to end soon."

"Really?" replied Ron with a gleam of hope in the eye.

"It's bound to happen," continued Seamus bitterly. "If Potter is really attending school, girls will be all over him in no time."

Ron went gloomy again. "You think so?"

"Think about it, Ron! Dude's a legend! He killed You-Know-Who single handed. I've heard he's the one who led the assault against the Death Eater stronghold and wiped them out. He must have all sorts of crazy powers. And no one has seen him since he was a baby, when he almost offed You-Know-Who the first time!"

"But, we've got magical powers too, we're wizards!" Ron took out his wand and started to roll it between his fingers. "I'm not bad at class… and I'm on the Quidditch Team! That must be worth something, doesn't it? I'm pretty good on a broom!"

Seamus patted him on the shoulder, "Ron, I don't think the bloke needs a broom to fly. Let's be real, it's over for us, we can't compete against the Boy-Who-Killed with what they teach us here… Imagine if he signed up to the duelling club? I'm not going to risk going against him. Pity… it was a good place to meet witches..."

"But we've had duel lessons!" protested Ron. "Like expelliarmus and stuff…" He caught Seamus raising his eyebrows, and added quickly, "I'm not saying I'm on his level or something, but it doesn't mean we're useless. We've done stuff before. I'm pretty good with my wand."

"Mate, I don't think Harry Potter even needs a wand to kick your asses — yes asses, because there will be multiple of them once he's done with you."

"If he's that good, I wouldn't mind letting him go wandless on me," said Hermione loudly over the table, still not looking at Ron, "I'm sure he wouldn't be afraid."

Both Lavender and Parvati laughed, and Ron's ear got even redder.

"I've heard he's a parseltongue, imagine the things he can do..." added Ginny, causing Ron to cover his ears.

Seamus looked at the witches around him and concluded, defeated, "give him a month or two and they'll call him the Boy-Who-Shagged… Let's hope he's not in Gryffindor…"

"Of course he'll be sorted into Gryffindor. He's a good guy, he's got to be with us," said Ron. He wiggled on his seat. "Make some space, maybe he'll sit with us…"

"So that's your plan!" said Seamus. "Become friends with Harry Potter and hope his leftover throw you a pity shag?" He made a grimace. "That's pathetic... and brilliant!" At once, Seamus tried to push his neighbor to help Ron clear a place, but this side of the table was overcrowded.

In the meantime, the Deputy Headmistress advanced and started to call the first years for their sorting. When Harry Potter's name was called, the whole room fell silent, even Dennis straightened up and moved to the edge of his seat, trying to catch a look of the Legendary Spellbreaker, as the Daily Prophet called him these days. And though the Gryffindor table was wishing for it to happen, when the Sorting Hat put Harry Potter in Gryffindor, there was little applause, as the man looked gloomy and dead serious. Dennis, for instance, had barely time to react when Harry walked straight towards him, and, without a word, sat next to his right. No one cheered, and all stared at the Boy-Who-Conquered, trying to get at him and his scar… Dennis didn't dare to look up, and getting his composure back, pulled off the best face of affected indifference he could.

He almost had a heart attack when a few minutes later, Harry asked him to pass him the roasted lamb.

"Ah, thank you, I'm starving," said Harry as the minuscule Dennis gave him the plate. "The school sure seems nice. I can't wait to see what they'll teach us."

"Don't get your hopes up too much, classes are boring as hell…"

"Really?" said Harry. He looked at the staff table, where he caught Professor Dumbledore's eye. "I thought the teacher where all certified by the Ministry of Magic, Department for Magical Education—"

"As if it was worth something…" said Dennis, and he went over the staff, presenting each of them to Harry.

"You've got Snape over there, he's an ass, no one likes him, then Professor Lupin — he's nice but always sick, you'd think they'd find someone who wasn't about to drop dead if you sneeze on him to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts; then Hagrid the Gamekeeper — in his class you never know whether we're the game… Then Trelawney, she keeps predicting everyone's gonna die — well maybe not this year — but at least you can sleep in her class. Professor Sprout teaches Botanics and grows all kinds of herbs and mushrooms; she's always high. Vector's boring, Binns is actually dead, as for McGonagall she doesn't even pretend to be nice, but don't be fooled, she is actually worse..."

"You don't like your teachers much, do you?" asked Harry.

"Hogwarts is not that great you know. I can't wait to finish school and get away from here."

Harry put down his golden fork next to his golden goblet and looked at his golden plate filled with more food that he ever saw. Was Dennis right and Hogwarts nothing but glitter? It was hard to believe. From the moment he set foot on the Hogwarts Express, everything had been better than he ever dreamt. In fact, he couldn't remember a time where he was so excited, to the point of becoming restless. When he entered the Great Hall, Hogwarts was already getting inside his head and Harry felt that urge to discover the castle, every corner and every tower donjon and rempart. Under his skin, he could feel it all, pulsating with magic: olds crenels and battlements rugged down by rains and age, highs towers brandished against the sky, and countless steps leading to countless corridors, tapestries, pale mosaics, dusty embroiderment worn down by generations of sorcerers and witch apprentices and candlelights. Hogwarts was calling him with all its magic and secrets, and Harry was ready to succumb to the charm.

"I like it so far," he said and helped himself with an additional serving of greasy meat pie.

Dennis shrugged and finished eating in silence while Harry stuffed himself with everything he could find. Now, Harry Potter may have learnt the darkest and most secret magic, his table manners were a bit rusty and perhaps well behaved wizard would find that off putting. Not the Gryffindors girls, who thought it gave him an air of mysterious rawness. Quite intense. Dark hairs. Impenetrable gaze. Tenebrous. Dennis, sitting on the front row of the culinary carnage, found it quite disgusting and lost the little appetite he had.

Soon after that, the Headmaster got up, called for silence and, after letting the chatters die filled the Great Hall with his booming voice.

"My dear students, witches and warlocks, sorcerers and sorceress, enchanters, enchantress, wizards and wizards, ghosts and ghosts, esteemed colleague and teachers, colleagues and teachers, first time comers and recurring students, welcome, and welcome back, welcome all to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for yet another year!"

The Headmaster made a pause to let applause rise and fall.

"What a great pleasure and honor to see you back on safe at school, ready to embark again on classes, and lessons, and magic and potions and Quidditch and detentions!" Some students cheered, others laughed.. "Now, as you can see, we are quite overcrowded this year! And while it is indeed good news, I ask everyone to make an effort so that we can all live together without stepping too much on each other's toes. Is it true for first year students, but also for older one who decided to retake the repeat class because of the tragic events that occurred over the last few years — even though I'm still convinced some of our seventh year students didn't need external disruption to fail their graduation !" He looked up and everyone followed his eyes to Fred and George Weasley who decided to interpret laughs and sneers directed at them as praises and gave overly polite salutes to the crowd.

Of course, thought Harry while discreetly stuffing himself with a last slice of crunchy chocolate cake he had set aside. Hogwarts probably had to face many threats during the war. He recalled hearing about a breach and a Death Eater invasion at some point, but couldn't remember the details, because defending Hogwarts was never part of his mission. Dumbledore stopped once again, then continued in a grave voice.

"But before letting you go to bed, I ask you for a moment of silence to remember those who are not with us tonight and should have been, those taken too soon, in the prime of their youth. May they rest forever in the shadows of Hogwarts; they shall not be forgotten."

Like a cleaver on the chopping block, silence fell over the Great Hall. All around him, Harry only saw grave faces, grieving eyes and sorrow. He caught Albus Dumbledore's eyes looking in his direction and to his surprise, the old man stared, filled with gentle grief that Harry never experienced before, to the point it made him uncomfortable. At that moment, a piece of hazelnut from his chocolate cake got stuck in his throat, triggering a coughing fit. Trying to clear his throat discreetly, Harry eructated like a cacochyme cat, gasping for air. Oblivious of the seven hundreds pairs of eyes closing up on him, he muffled himself with the last of his cake in one bite and washed it down with water from his personal flask he was used to carrying around. Next to him, Dennis opened his mouth, probably about to complain once again, Harry shut him down with a reproachful look and waited respectfully for the ceremony to come to an end. As Dumbledore would say, speech is silver, silence is gold. He was about to share his thoughts with Dennis but the boy left as soon as the Headmaster called bedtime. That's kind of rude, he thought.

Moments later, a prefect girl called the first years to follow her. Harry moved in her direction but another prefect named Ronald Weasley met him first and explained he would show him the way to the dormitory, since they would share the same place. Harry followed him instead until a couple of Slytherin sixth year appeared before them, blocking the way.

"Get lost!" shouted Ron as the Slytherins came closer.

"Weasley!" called a pale boy named Draco Malfoy with contempt. "I have to give you that, it didn't take you a long time to suck up to the hero. But I've heard you never last long in any matters..."

There were a couple of laughs; Ron's romantic life was a very well known subject around the rumor mill that is Hogwarts. If half were true, the miller's daughter is having a good time. Good for her.

"Well... and you... go fuck yourself," replied Ron but it wasn't very effective.

Harry took a step, and, remembering what he read about first impressions, took an affirmative posture, opened his hand with confidence, and smiled. "Hello, I'm Harry Potter, nice to meet you."

Draco looked at the hand with contempt and didn't shake it.

"I know exactly who you are," he spat "you think you can just walk around here, calling yourself a hero."

"I didn't call myself a hero," replied Harry, "you did. But I guess I'm kind of the hero since I killed Voldemort and single handedly won the war."

"You're no hero," said Malfoy. "I know exactly who you are, and you're no hero."

He advanced closer to Harry with a murderous intent, who recognized the stance, he was about to go for this wand. That was a big issue for Harry. On one hand, he didn't want any troubles on his first day at Hogwarts, and they weren't supposed to do magic in the corridor. Plus it was probably illegal to curse a student. On the other hand, there was nothing to do except shoot first in these situations.

Draco Malfoy should have seen it coming, but he would never know how close he was to being killed. As he closed up on Harry, with Goyle at his side, he went slowly for his wand. He would never reach it.

A hand caught Draco's forearm. It was Goyle's.

"Come on Draco," said the bulky boy. "Why is it that you always make enemies of everyone?"

"What are you doing Gregory," muttered Draco, trying to keep his composure. "Stick to our plan."

"Our plan?" protested Gregory Goyle, "it was your plan, and, like always, I never said I agreed to it."

"Don't do that in front of the enemy..."

"Enemy? What enemy? Why do you have to pick an arch nemesis every new year? Don't you get tired of it already!"

"I'm not!" protested Draco, still trying to wrestle out of Goyle's clench.

"Yes you are!" Goyle concentrated very hard and counted Draco's sworn enemies on the other hand. "First was Ron — oh hi Ron,'' he said with his free hand, "how are you doing? — then his sister Ginny, then Fred, then Cedric Diggory, then back to Weasley, then Harry Potter… Man, I'm telling you, it's not healthy…"

"I don't need a big fat troll to tell me what's healthy or not," spat Draco.

The insult hit Gregory right across the face. He tried to think of a response but none came.

"Not cool!" said a tall and muscular fifth year passing by, attracted by the attroupement around Draco and Harry. "You shouldn't say that to your friend. Body shaming is not acceptable."

"And what do you know, Finch-Fletchley Flexer?" said Draco with a snort.

"Goyle's joined the Body Improvement club," said Justin. He pulled up his robe sleeves revealing a very bulky arm he flew for the crowd. "Training every day of the week, everyone's welcome, witch and witches of all years, also open in the morning for fifth year students and older." He looked at the crowd, "A healthy body is it's own magic!" then turned to Goyle and added "by the way, nice gains bro!"

"Thank you, Justin. I kept up the training at home," replied Goyle with a weak smile as Justin gave him two thumbs up.

Justin turned to Malfoy. "Everyone's welcome, by the way, we'd be glad to have you too."

Draco Malfoy looked outraged. "I'm not spending one minute doing dumb triceps bell or whatever, like a muggle."

"Dumbbell extensions," corrected Justin. "And I don't see why taking care of one's body should be the privileges of Muggles." He looked extensively at, Draco, up and down. "But if you wizards want to look like pale shrimps... just kidding," he added for the benefit of the crowd, "we're an open club and all body types are welcomed..."

The crowd laughed then slowly dispersed, leaving Malfoy to fulminate. He finally grabbed his wand; turned back and yelled "Now, Potter! You're going to regret—"

Except Harry Potter was long gone, having followed the prefect Ronald Weasley to the Gryffindor Common room, and Draco was now all alone in the corridor. Humiliated and enraged, he swore to get his revenge against Harry Potter, no matter the cost…

In the meantime, Harry was going to bed for a nightmare to remember, unfortunately he would forget it in the morning.


	3. Hogsmeade

**Chapter 3: Hogsmead**

With dark spots like black tears on her white mantle, the owl with no name let out a screech, alarming the rats on the cage next to hers. They froze for a moment, the time for their tiny brain to realize that she was in a cage as well, therefore posed them to threat; and they continued their games of jumping, and running after their tails with squeaking sounds. Rats. When they're not running around, they obsess over cheese. Soft cheese, medium hard cheese, hard cheese, brined or smear-ripened, rats would spend days and days discussing the smelly flagrence of a bleue forgotten in a cave or the gluey crust of livarot. Or cursing the parmesan, deemed too salty for the moustached rodents taste buds.

There was a time when the owl with no name would join them, though her interest was more in pork rind and sausage. Once or twice, through careful planning and cheer luck, with a couple of rats and a one eyed badger, they broke into the pantry and managed to get their tiny claws on a large round of mimolette that lasted for months. But one by one, the cheese robbers left the Magical Menagerie and soon, the little owl found herself surrounded with animals she didn't know, and she had little interest in them. She waited until no one came for six years in a row.

If fate had been more generous, perhaps that owl could have visited the birdhouse of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and let me tell you, the birdhouse of Hogwarts School and Witchcraft and Wizardry is a wonder for the eyes. Thousands of birds travel there each year, such as raven, craw, peregrine falcon, blue jay, red jay, green jay, royal jay and all the jay commoners not blessed with having a colour worth mentioning. They live all the same under the ethereal roof, suspended between earth and the stars, up the hill after the botanical greenhouses where Professor Sprout gives lessons. Perhaps the poet was thinking of Hogwarts birds as when he wrote about their marbling matching their feathering. Behind tinted glass, in the twilight, birdsong starts like a whisper, the chorus swells and explodes when the rising sun breaks dawn. Sometime during the summer, the Headmaster's phoenix would join them with an aria, a blazing flame that carries them all day into the night where they slowly fall asleep, leaving the scene to the imperturbable hoots of the owls. Mighty or whimsy, exotic or mundane, talon, claw or hooves, all winged beings are welcome here, even the mysterious half birds whose fate are too heartbreaking to be discussed in this light tale.

However, wizards and witches are not coming from far away only to study and admire the magical birds, the birdhouse is itself an accomplishment of magicarchitecture. About a hundred feet tall, the second tallest tower of Hogwarts behind the Astronomy tower, the stone foundation quickly gives way to a structure of metal and glass, allowing light to penetrate from every angle and reflect inside. It makes the building look transparent from afar, like a flying tower, very much inspired by the mythical Castle of Light of the magical french nation.

Inside the birdhouse, trees, perch and nests are arranged to accommodate every species specific need. An enchanted river flows slowly from the top to the ground and below, bringing cool in summer, and heat in winter, and water for the flowers. All works in subtle harmony, which is the reason while the access of the birdhouse is strictly forbidden to any student without written permission under the penalty of bugnato, a punishment deemed so cruel and ancient no one is really quite sure what it exactly means, but it sounds so grim and decadent no one ever took the chance, according to Mr Filch records at least.

While owls are welcome in the birdhouse, they usually keep themselves to the Owlery, finding it more fitted to their duty as Wizard compagnon and trusted messengers. Hogwarts Owls want you to think they are very dignified like that, but really, it's because they have a building literally named after them. However, even for owls, it is considered polite to visit the birdhouse when you arrive at Hogwarts, and meet Fawk, a sovereign among all birds. A snowy owl named Hedwig did exactly that before joining her nocturnal peers in their house of stone one day of september; thanks to a young wizard with a golden cauldron who had entered the Magical Menagerie a couple of days ago, freeing her from her cage. She visited the birdhouse, then flew over the hill, over the wall, over grove where good-for-nothing cats had their secret meeting planning god-know-what, made a stop at the Owlery, then straight toward the Great Hall, a letter sealed with the golden mark of the Ministry of Magic in her claws.

* * *

"I wonder what she's thinking about," said Harry Potter while on a staring contest with his owl. The object of their conflict was a slice of roasted ham, the last one left in Harry's plate. Hedwig thought it as a fair payment for bringing him the letter. She pricked the ham crispy rind with her talon and immediately Harry counter stabbed the meat with a golden fork. Not that he was unsympathetic to her predicament, Harry had been hungry more often than not, but when he had carefully composed his plate this morning, he had the most definite intention to eat every single thing he had picked from the abundant breakfast Hogwarts was offering.

At that time, the Great Hall was mostly empty, until some Gryffindors boys arrived and sat next to Harry. "Good morning, Harry Potter," said Ron, blissfully unaware of the fight, "did you settle all right?"

"I'm good," replied Harry, without releasing his pressure on the fork.

"I wanted to tell you not to worry about Malfoy and stuff… he's a bit of an arse."

"Who?"

"Malfoy," repeated Ron, "the bloke of yesterday evening, trying to stir some shit."

"Oh right," said Harry, "I forgot about him already." It's not as if Harry was good with names. He looked at the Slytherin table and exchanged glances with Draco who looked utterly terrified. Harry paid no attention to that; yet because he looked away, even for a quarter of a second, that moment of inattention cost him his food and Hedwig flew victoriously away.

"I talked to the Slytherin Head boy," explained Ron, unaware of the fact that Harry had stopped listening and concentrated on cutting another slice of ham, "Malfoy shouldn't bother you anymore. Everyone wants to have a nice year, after everything that happened…"

"Sure sure,"

"Was that your owl?" asked Ron.

"Yes, it's Hedwig," replied Harry, "got an important letter."

Ron looked at him with curiosity but Harry kept shoving ham in his mouth and it was obvious he wasn't going to discuss the content of the letter, therefore Ron took a golden glass, poured some pumpkin juice in it and said, "I wish I was a bird. They sleep all day long, and do nothing except for eating. And they can fly."

"That's basically what you're doing," said Fred. It made the boys laugh but Ron frowned.

"You're losing it old man," said Ron, "your jokes don't make any sense because I can't fly, you idiot!".

"Glad you're coming into terms with that, I never had the heart to tell you myself," said George. "I'll tell Angelina you'll resign from the Quidditch team at once…"

Then Ron protested and the three brothers bickered for a while, because George was lying. He did in fact tell him twice a day that he couldn't fly. Fred Weasley was a better brother in that regard because he wasn't ashamed to boast about his little brother flying with the elegance of a drunken donkey. All of them were members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, in addition to Ginny Weasley, Dean Thomas, Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson. The Gryffindor team had met a moderate success on the Hogwarts Quidditch tournaments over the past years, first under the wing of Oliver Wood for three years, then under much firmer wing of Angelina Johnson, whose time to shine as the captain was yet to come as the Quidditch tournament was cancelled due to the Third Wizard Tournaments two years before, then again because of the war.

As you probably know, the rules of Quidditch are ancient, very numerous and specific; they can be challenging for a neophyte — some might even say whimsical — as if it was made to confuse and create drama more than ensure a well balanced game, and no fan is ever more entertained than when he complain how unfair against his team the referee was. But if you read them close enough, you will start to notice a very interesting fact, not in what the rules states, but what they carefully omit. For example, they do not state how the players should dress, although common sense dictates to wear some kind of armor against the bludgers to soften the blow, trading speed for protection; yet common sense is rarely the most obvious trait of character for wizards; and in 1563 the Witch Gullveig playing seeker on her golden broom, following her intuition about aerodynamics, played a match completely naked, thus much lighter than her padded opponent, allowing her to outpace the other seeker and she won the game. Unfortunately, she was seen escaping bludgers by Muggles under a full moon and it came to pass that farmers took fear of black mass, black sabbath and wicked ritual involving naked witches and bloody bats and witch hunts swept through the island of Britain and across the continent. Fortunately, no woman ever convicted of witchcraft and burned to the stake happened to be an actual witch.

The rules also don't state a time limit for the game, and in professional Quidditch, it goes on until the Golden Snitch is caught, which can take days, weeks even. At Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Quidditch matches usually don't take that long, barely more than a couple of hours even though they are occurrences throughout history of the team forfeiting the match on Sunday morning because they hadn't started their homework yet. About a dozen years ago, the Slytherin and Ravenclaw made a pact to delay catching the Golden Snitch as long as possible because they skip a week of class. On Monday morning, no one showed up to Professor McGonagall's lessons because everyone was still at the Quidditch pitch. She showed up and the match and explained what was about to happen if any student missed her class. After she stopped talking — she didn't have to scream — everyone was back in class and remembered the unspoken rule of Quidditch at Hogwarts: be smart but don't be too smart. This is only a short chapter among many tales of Quidditch in Hogwarts that remain to be told, stories of competition, long lasting friendships, betrayals, last minute save, hopes and shattered dreams, but it would require a narrator very interested in that sport to tell them, therefore we shall dwell on that subject no longer.

Harry Potter didn't care much about that either, nor for the team, nor for the players because he was more focused on his classes, aware how behind he was compared to classmates. The first problem was he couldn't find his way to the classrooms. It was like the Castle had come alive and tried to mislead him, and Harry kept getting lost between the long corridors that all looked alike and the stairs that never led to the same floor. One day he took a narrow passage towards the Astronomy tower but the next day, the same way opened to the library, on the other side of the school. Some doors were capricious, others were just wall painted over or led to nowhere; and between one-way corridors and vanishing entrances, it was a miracle Harry didn't arrive late more often during his first week. Going from one class to the next, he tried to follow his classmates but somehow always ended up separated from the group, and he had to run from one end to the castle to the other to find the next classroom. From their student point of view, Harry Potter vanished mysteriously ten times a day, and they all thought he had very important tasks to accomplish — why else would he have come to Hogwarts? — and it was surely very secret, therefore no one dared to talk to him; except sometimes Ron Weasley and his friend during lunch or breakfast. Not that he really cared, because Harry had always managed very well on his own but he wished he'd find some people to hang out with, after class, do homework together. Mainly to do homework together. So that they could help him. Because Harry sucked at classes. So hard.

However, during his first Transfiguration class Harry made quite the impression after Professor McGonagall explained how difficult this year's curriculum would be and how only top students could attempt the elective Animagus program in the seventh year. He successfully transformed his potato into a golem on his first try. The class applauded while the golem, waving his little fry sword around him successfully disarmed the one Professor McGonagall made as a demonstration.

"A decent first attempt, Mr Potter," said Professor McGonagall.

"It's nothing for me," replied Harry.

"Easy now, Mr Potter, I said you had success, not talent."

Harry would ruminate at the professor's words, until the next lesson chased them from his mind.

* * *

Hermione Granger was the best student of her year for five years in a row. She shared the third room of the fourth floor of the witch's dormitories tower of Gryffindor with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Their room was much more tidy than their warlock counterpart in the wizard's dormitory opposite to the Common Room but you'd be wrong to make any generalization about the characters of boys and girls from that fact; induction can lead to dangerous injury if not performed with the utmost care and should be left to the logicians. Truthfully, Hermione Granger was more organized with her stuff than, let's say for example, Ronald Weasley, Seamus Finnigean or Dean Thomas. But she was also more reluctant than Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil to let the natural course of chaos mess a room, pile up the parchment and letters, sprinkle dust or trap socks, quills and in the realm of lost things. Maybe she had that from her muggle parents, the firm belief that each thing had a place, and a place for each thing, and you should put it back once you are done with it. A clean room for a clean mind.

Both Parvati and Lavender — especially Lavender — grew up in magical houses where everything is available on the tip of a wand, and everything else is hidden close by, in the shadow of a corner; therefore they saw Hermione's proclivity for organisation as utterly useless, eccentric, weird but ultimately harmless, as long as she didn't tried to rope them in. Except she did try to rope them in, fueled by her orthodoxy, which Lavender found very annoying, because first, she didn't know why she had to live under Hermione's strange obsessions, and second, Hermione's draconian rules didn't apply to books that she left on every corner of the room while complaining that Parvati did the same with her clothes. When she pointed out that blatant example of hypocrisy to Hermione, Hermione replied that as a general rule, a book is in his right place everywhere it happens to be, which is a fair point. Lavender said it was nonsense, or else the whole dormitory would turn in a library; and Hermione said she saw nothing wrong with that; and Lavender said then they should invite Madame Pince to live with them; and after a while Parvati pointed out none of their argument made any sense and a truce was found, and everybody had to compromise and adjust their standards and expectations and that's why, since that day, the room is quite neat for a wizard's point of view, but still something between a mess and a capharnaum for a well educated muggle.

But on the first Friday evening of September, when Hermione joined her two friends back in their room, she didn't seem to care about that at all, and almost ignored a book left face down on a table; still she picked it up, and after checking his spine, put it away. A helpless book opened page down is a horrific sight, and very traumatic for the book itself.

When Lavender asked her if she was back from the library, Hermione replied vaguely she had been working. Things had been awkward between the two of them since Ron had broken with Lavender for Hermione's benefits — though Hermione might debate the term benefits at that moment — at the end of the previous year, and they had both carefully avoided the subject since the start of term and probably would have all year, if not for Parvati.

"Who cares about homework, Hermione?" she said," what's with you and Ron? Didn't you spend the summer with him? You still haven't told us about that..."

Parvati. Cutting into the awkwardness. She got that from her great aunt, one of the rudest, meanest and most incredible old witch Hermione ever met in her life, but that's for another story.

"Yes, I spend the summer with his family," replied Hermione carefully. "Then the lockdown was lifted and I could go back to my place before the start of term, spend some time with my parents..."

"Oh right, you were able to see them again. I'm so glad for you," said Parvati.

The Lockdown had been a widely traumatic yet necessary measure from the ministry of magic during the war. After a particularly ignominious attack against muggle born families, the Ministry had decided to put all underage students under a curfew all year long, either in Hogwarts, or at home. Families of muggle born were put under heavy protection, sometimes given new identities, and their children, most at risk, put into safe houses in wizards families during summer. It meant Hermione had not been able to see her parents for a couple of years in a row. The reunion had been full of tears and joy, but also, for some reason, painful, though Hermione couldn't explain what.

"Yes, I was relieved to be back with them," said Hermione. "I wasn't even sure I would come back this year by the way."

"What? You're kidding?" said Parvati.

"I thought they'd never let me go again. We even talked about taking a year off to stay with them."

"You? Taking a year off?" exclaimed Lavender. "But everything is back to normal!"

"That's what I said," continued Hermione, "and I'll visit them during the holidays this year I suppose..." Her voice trailed off. "But maybe you'll have to come and get back after christmas, I'm not sure they'll let me go again!" She forced a laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Parvati. "You can't spend the year with your folk. Didn't you read what the Minister for Magic said 'Let's embrace the new era of peace… and love!'"

"Still…"

"What is it?"

Hermione bit her lips. It wasn't easy to explain. Or worse, it was easy to explain but she dare not say it.

"I've been gone for a long time and… you know my parents are muggle, right?" The two girls nodded. "It's like…they mean well, but they don't understand."

Lavender and Parvati nodded again. They didn't know what it was like, having muggle parents, but they understood very well how parents never understood anything.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Anyway, now I have to send them a letter every day, but I'm glad to be back, and in the end I haven't really had time to hang out with Ron…"

Truth be told, Ron had been the least of Hermione's worry since she left the Burrow in Summer. Coming back to her childhood home had brought back many memories but the house was now very silent and dull, compared to the chaotic summers at the Burrow or the whimsical everyday school life at Hogwarts. As for her parents, although she loved them very much, they had become so distant it felt like talking to strangers. What did an O.W.L certification meant to Helen Granger? What would William Granger know about the recent persecutions against muggle born? Worse, they spoke about the missing time so lightly, as if their daughter had only been away for a semester, asking if she'd learn anything interesting, or made some friends, that Hermione wasn't sure if the Ministry official had really explained the gravity of the situation when they sent them into hiding. He had probably been annoyed at how little her muggle parents understood about He-Who-Is-Finally-Dead-At-Last and the Death Eater and used a small charm to make them more commendable. She wished she had more time to reconnect with them, but was it even possible? In fact, it was them who pushed her to go back to school, and she was the one who insisted they exchange owls every day, but now she had to scrape her brain to find something to write about every night. She only came with trivial subjects or things way too serious to be put in a letter; and it felt like homework, except she usually enjoyed homework.

"But do you like him?" asked Lavender.

Hermione blinked, she was lost in her thoughts, it took her a moment to remember they were talking about Ron. "Well, I think it's a complicated question-"

"Not really," said Parvati.

"- and you know Ron can be very annoying, and I don't really have time for that right now… but… maybe…?" she glanced at Lavender.

Lavender laid back on her bed. "It's alright," she said, "I'm over it. Plenty of fish."

"Speaking of that, " said Parvati, "what do you think of Harry Potter? Definitely hot?"

"I'm not denying he's got this whole mysterious sexy thing going for him," said Lavender, "but he looked a bit dangerous… Why do you ask? I didn't expect you'd be interested in him."

Parvati shrugged. "I'm not, but doesn't mean I can't find him interesting."

"He looks a bit rough though. He's kind of sending weird vibes. If half the things they say about him are true..."

"I think he's really nice," said Hermione. "I met him in the library, and he was mostly normal. I was a bit surprised to be honest."

"You met him in the library?!" exclaimed Lavender and Parvati at the same time and Hermione had to tell them all about it.

* * *

The scene takes place in the library. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter are sitting across a table, doing homework. Behind them, there are shelves over shelves, all filled with books whispering in silence.

Hermione: "I'm not gonna shag you."

Harry: "What now?"

Hermione: "It's not going to work, what you're doing. Not going to happen."

Harry, to the audience: "What did she say? Did I miss something? Did I hear correctly? Did she really ask what I think she asked? Who asks something like that out of the blue? And now I'm blushing..."

Hermione: "You can stop it. It's not working. Not. A. Single. Shag. Will. Be. Given."

Harry, to the audience: "I certainly didn't do anything to give her the impression I would be interested in engaging with her in … ahem… bedroom activities. It hasn't crossed my mind, swear to god, hope to die. The only reason I sat at the same table was because they said we had to do group studies, therefore I can't do it alone, or it wouldn't be a group am I right ? Yes? Yes I am!

"Now don't be wrong, I'm not saying I intend never to engage with someone. I have thought of engaging before. I remember this witch raven hair on a mission. She was very beautiful. I can't say I haven't dreamt of engaging with her. Alone. At night… ahem… that's not the subject.

"What am I thinking about anyway? Did I hear correctly? Of course not? What are you saying? Shagging? She said that? No, I don't believe it. And I feel stupid to have though that, and so should you!"

Hermione, losing patience: "Look, get it, I know the tale. You're the hero that could have anyone, and I'm the nerdy girl everyone thinks cannot get laid, and you're going to turn me into a princess. You're not the first celebrity to try. I can manage on my own, thank you very much."

Harry, lost: "Try what?

Hermione, shouting: "Screw me!"

The books stop whispering. They are shocked. Magical books usually frown on such profanity.

Hermione: "Krum tried that. You know, the international Quidditch play? Pulled the same move. Am I supposed to be impressed because he flies after magic balls all day long? So what Mr Krum? You found your way to the library and I'm going to fall in your arms because you can read...

"And let's talk about Diggory! Oh right, Champion Diggory, heard about him? At least he wasn't five years older than me, only two, but it doesn't mean I'm impressed if you steal an egg from a dragon that was put on a chain. Oh great Champion that could have had any girls but choose poor me instead. Thank you, No thank you, keep your lizard to yourself, please and thank you but no thank you.

"And Ron, who was so proud to be able to quote a fact from Hogwarts a History! Well congrats it took you only five years! Well done! And again, Ron's not a bad guy actually... but..it doesn't mean everyone that can read can come up here expecting to … you-know-what!"

Harry, checking if a confondus hex had hit him: "What's a you-know-what? I know about you-know who but I don't know what's you-know-what… Is that dangerous?"

Hermione: "You must be really stupid if you think I'm stupid..."

Harry, afraid: "Perhaps I'm stupid, I've never been to school after all. It's my first year."

Hermione represses a smile then looks uncertain.

Hermione: "Are you saying you don't want to shag me?"

Harry, to the audience: "Would it be rude to say no? Or that I don't know yet? That I'd need more time to think about it but right now I've got my homework to do first? Do you think it's a good idea to tell her that? What? No?"

Harry, improvising: "Maybe I'm into blokes?"

Hermione: "Oh, really, Harry-the-boy-who-lived-Potter? Are you into blokes, Harry-I'm-so-famous-all-girls-fall-over-me-Potter?"

Harry, unsure: "Mayb-I've never... I don't think so…"

Hermione, victorious, "Then I have seen through your devious plan!"

Harry quickly pulls his astronomy map from his bag and rolled it open on the table between the books to show his good faith.

Harry: "Look, I've come to work on my map. I never learned about the stars, therefore Professor McGonagall had me join the first years Astronomy classes. But I have group study now, I thought I needed to find someone, and people from the Common Room told me to ask you."

Hermione: "Really? and what did they say?"

Harry: "That you're the one to see to get ...filled with stars. And that you knew every phase of the moon. And you were an expert with handling the spheres and you knew a thing or two about celestials bodies. And for the constellation, I should ask you about the position of the Amazon, and the reverse locust... "

Hermione looks at him. She is about to explode. She burst in uncontrollable laughter.

Hermione, laughing: "Oh god, thank you, I really needed that."

Harry, tentatively: "You're very welcome..."

Hermione, "I really appreciate it, sorry if I snapped on you, I've had a lot of work recently..."

Harry, to the audience: "It's been only one week!"

Hermione, "...can't stay mad when you look so stupid... I'm going to need the name of these boys who sent you, because I have to kill them obviously."

Harry, lying: "I.. I don't remember their name. I don't think I can tell you..."

Hermione, suspicious "Was there a redhead boy among them?"

Harry: "Oh yes, two of them by the way, I think they are twins."

Hermione: "Twins? How interesting… I'll deal with them later."

Behind the bookshelves, Fred and George Weasley get out of hiding, salute to the audience, and leave the scene with hast.

Hermione: "Alright, let me see your map, I'll mark the errors."

She takes the map, and immediately crosses everything with red ink.

Harry: "Thank you, I wanted to finish it tonight but I have to see Dumbledore later-"

Hermione: "Professor Dumbledore."

Harry: "Yes, that's what I said."

Hermione: "No, you— nevermind. I suppose you're Harry Potter, you can probably do whatever you want. Call it whatever you want"

Harry: "I wish I could see the point of Astronomy..."

Hermione, shouting: "It's all the fault of bloody Krum!"

Harry, caught by surprise: "What? What's a krum?"

Hermione: "Krum! The bloody Quidditch play. Were you listening?"

Harry, lying: "Oh right, yes, Quidditch. And Krum. I like Quidditch, it's so great with the broom and balls. Wish I could try."

Hermione :"Go ask the Angelina, the Gryffindor Team Captain, I'm sure she'll let you have a ride. On the broom I mean. Anyway, once upon a time, two years ago, we went to the ball together. Once! And suddenly, it's like we're a thing! Then the rumors started. And then all the boys come to ask for help with their homework, instead it's not actually their homework they need help with..."

Harry: "What did they come for then…?"

Hermione makes a hole with one hand and slides a finger in it and out, in and out; and in and out.

Hermione: "It's been going on that table for two years!"

Harry, horrified, removes his arms from the table precipitably.

Hermione: "Not that! I haven't.. Not here... I mean it's been my studying spot the last two years and people come bother me every other day! I may have to stop my actual study group..."

Harry: "Hermione, your other study group, are they boys in it?"

Hermione: "Yes. And girls too."

Harry: "And do you think they were happy with it."

Hermione: "I should think so!"

Harry: "And do you think it's possible they sometimes said you helped them with their homework, and, well, since other people had the wrong idea already, it reinforced the idea of your working spot being about something else ?…"

Hermione: "Oh!"

Harry: "Why don't you move?"

Hermione: "What do you mean? It's my studying spot."

Harry: "Obviously, people get the wrong idea of what you're doing here, and think it's a spot for, ahem, you-know-what. Maybe if you found another spot…"

Hermione: "I'm not going to change my habits because boys are stupid!"

Harry: "But it might work or you could hex them, obviously, that's what I would do, except Dumbledore told me I'm not supposed to. And Mr Filch says we can't do magic outside of classes but everyone does it constantly and the Professors don't say anything, therefore I'm not sure I get it yet."

Hermione: "Madam Pince would kick everyone out if she seems even a tip of a wand."

Harry pulls out his Invisibility Cloak from his pocket.

Harry: "Take it. No one will bother you while you wear it. I know it's not ideal, but it's something, I guess."

Hermione: "Wow, Harry, thank you but I can't…"

Harry: "I'm only lending it to you, until you find a better solution. It was my dad's actually, so it is quite precious, and I'll definitely expect it back at some point."

Hermione wears the cloak and she vanished completely, except for her head.

Hermione: "Are you sure?"

Harry: "Yes, you need it more than I do."

Hermione, half joking: "And it's not a trap? You're not going to ask for a quick wank in exchange?"

Harry pulls out his wand

Harry: "I'm happy with mine, and I'm already quick enough with it."

Hermione: "Then I will accept. Thank you... Harry. You're a good person. Except at Astronomy Here your map. It's terrible. You're terrible at astronomy."

Harry: "Thank you for the help, Hermione. Not see you later."

Madam Pince enters. She is furious and brandishes a feather-duster like a sword.

Madam Pince: "Enough! I won't have students snogging around the books anymore! Get out! The library is not a brothel! The books are traumatized!"

Hermione becomes fully invisible and Harry is ousted by Madam Pince and her feather-duster.

* * *

"I still think you should have shagged him," said Parvati. "You look like you're under a lot of stress, it would do you good."

"I'm not really in the mood," protested Hermione. "And I don't think he was either… What's up with you by the way, rambling about peace and love and sex? Something good happened?"

Parvati looked at the ceiling gloomingly. "Not really. No one is in the mood either."

"You can't expect much if you're pick up line is a quote from Cornelius Fudge," said Lavender.

Overall, they were a bit disappointed by the lack of lewdness in Hermione's story. For Lavender, it was because despite the Ron-situation, she would always be happy if her friend managed to get some; for Parvati it was because she wanted to get laid so bad, she couldn't think of anything else.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" asked Lavender to Hermione.

"I'm busy all weekend, I told Professor McGonagall I'll be volunteering to help with the upcoming ceremony-"

"Nonsense," said Lavender, "you're coming with us on Hogsmeade."

"What? But-"

"Miranda and her friends are planning a trip. Tomorrow is the perfect day, the weather's still good, we don't have too much work and we have to enjoy the place before it is swarmed with third years. Parvati, you're in?"

"Miranda Flockton? From Ravenclaw? Sure I'll come. Hermione, can you take care of the food? Elves like you."

Hermione shook her head. "I wish I could come but I have so much homework and— "

"Come on, Hermione, you choose to get swamped on your first week back! Take a breath, and have fun instead," exclaimed Parvati. "Honeydukes. The Three Broomsticks. Dreamatorium of Delight. Scrivenshaft."

"But I—"

"Tell McGonagall you've changed your mind. Who cares about the stupid ministry celebration? You know what my aunt would say? She'd say that they're going to slap medals on each other's ass for wanking each other while someone else did the job."

Parvati was right, her aunt would have said that. And she was also right about Hermione, and Hermione knew it, because she ended up agreeing; and it came to pass that the three of them got to bed early that night, for they had to wake up early the day after and they were mature about it. We should all learn from them. But we will not..

* * *

All things considered, Harry Potter was very satisfied with his first week at school but nothing good ever last. On Friday evening that week, Harry was summoned to the Headmaster's office. When he came in, Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore, no Dumbledore — no, Professor Dumbledore — was waiting peacefully behind his round desk filled with bizarre instruments. Harry didn't recognize a single one of them, which meant they were not dangerous. The last and only time he had been there, it had been under very different circumstances.

"Ah, come in, Harry, please do take a seat," said Professor Dumbledore making a chair appear out of thin air. "How do you like school so far?"

"Everything is great!" said Harry. "The classes are very interesting, and I made a friend, I think."

"Excellent, excellent," said the Headmaster while stroking his long beard. "What about the classes? It has come to my attention that you had a bit of trouble with Professor Snape — I usually don't play favourites, but considering the circumstances, I thought I could lift that detention this time…"

Indeed, Harry Potter short stay in remedial potion class earlier this week had been too much for the Potion Master and when the Headmaster said it had come to his attention, that was a very polite way to put it as in fact a very angry Severus Snape burst in his office earlier, shouting and fulminating at Mr Potter's behaviour for two hours straight. What Severus didn't know is that the Headmaster missed half his whining because he had just tried the new batch of mushrooms Professor Sprout had cooked up. Harry was not the only wizard to enjoy the post-Voldemort area.

"Oh no Professor, please don't!" protested Harry as if he was denied a hard earned treat. "I want to do that detention! Like a normal student!"

Dumbledore's blue eyes widened and he stared very intensely at Harry.

"Are you sure, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"In all the years I have been Headmaster I never had a student go voluntarily in detention. On the opposite, they go to great lengths to avoid it — but not to the point of avoiding the behaviour that causes the detention, though. We wizards are often so short sighted, incapable of choosing between the milk, buttermilk and the butterbeer. And I'm afraid grown ups are very like youth in that regard..."

And Dumbledore pontificated the infinite wisdom of his old age for a few minutes. The Headmaster had been doing a lot that the past few weeks, however since Harry had decided to become a normal student, he couldn't afford to become any wiser, therefore, he stopped listening once he understood how enlighted this particular speech was.

"Indeed, indeed," said Harry, having no idea on which life lesson he was agreeing on. "But, Sir, students are supposed to go to detention, right? It's part of Hogwarts' life, therefore I have to do it, because I'm a Hogwarts' student. I don't think it'd be fair to other students..."

Dumbledore looked gravely at Harry again, as if he was probing his very soul, then his gaze softened and he smiled.

"You've become very wise Harry, wiser than anyone your age, I think. Do enjoy your time in detention then."

He was used to Dumbledore's hidden messages by now. And this one was crystal clear, Dumbledore thought Harry became too wise for his age; in order to make the most of this year Harry had to be less careful about the rules.

And like every good thing in life, the opportunity came to Harry during breakfast. Years of habits had tuned his mind to wake up early every day, even on the weekend. Losing the ability to sleep in the morning was perhaps the greatest crime done to Harry Potter. However, thanks to that, he ended up at the same table as Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown and Hermione Granger.

At first, he tried to ignore her because he feared she'd say something embarrassing once again, but Hermione was very normal now.

"We're spending the day at Hogsmead," she explained, and, seeing Harry didn't know what she was talking about, added, "It's a wizard village near the school. What about you? You're up early."

"I've got things to do," said Harry, but he did not expand further. "Never been to Hogsmead before though."

"What don't you come with us?" offered Lavender. "We're going with Ravenclaws. The more the merrier."

Harry scratched his chin — a habit he picked from Sirius, except it worked best on Sirius' beard; for Harry; it only gave a red rash — and said. "Maybe another time. I've got a detention."

"You didn't lose time!" said Hermione. "What did you do?"

"Dunno," said Harry, which was almost true. He wasn't exactly sure where it had gone wrong. "But Professor Snape didn't like it."

"Snape… What a git!" said Lavender with an understanding look on her face. "I can't believe he would give you detention! You're Harry Potter! If it was me, I would let you do whatever you want!" She looked him in the eye and repeated that. "Whatever you want."

"You're not wrong, Professor Dumbledore offered to cancel the detention, which I found a little weird, because the Headmaster can't play favourite can he? But I insisted I do it because I have to steal some potions from Snape's office."

Hermione, shocked, opened her mouth in horror but Parvati and Lavender found that declaration very interesting.

"I'm looking for sleeping potions. Not that I can't sleep, but I keep having weird dreams," he explained. "It's annoying. I figure Snape must have some potions for that. I never bother to learn about them. Potions are useless." He snapped his fingers with the realization. "That's probably why Snape's angry. I shouldn't have said that to him, probably."

And suddenly, Harry Potter became the most interesting person on the Gryffindor table, more than he already was, because you had to be utterly demented or on another level to insult Professor Snape so directly, and without a shread of hesitation.

"It means you can get out of the detention," said Lavender. "And come with us. Trust me on this, if you have problems with your dreams, you have to check the Dreamatorium. It's a place where you can explore the realm and dreams —"

"Oh come one!" exclaimed Hermione, "don't rope him into that rubbish..."

"Hermione!" replied Lavender, "if you don't want to open your mind, it doesn't mean you should stop other people from doing it."

"Hermione doesn't believe in that branch of magic," explained Parvati to Harry, while Hermione and Lavender argued. "But whether you believe it or not, it's a fun experience."

"If it's fun then I'll go for it," said Harry. "When are you leaving?"

"After breakfast," said Parvati. But at that moment, Ron, flanked with Seamus and Dean appeared from the Gryffindors stairs, so Parvati stopped talking. Ron's face was as pale as the white marble of the Great Hall floor and he had heavy bags under his eyes. Obviously, he was not used to getting up so early like Harry, and hadn't gone to bed accordingly, like Hermione and her friends.

"Morning Hermione," said Ron.

"'Morning,' replied Hermione politely, though she was mostly interested in the sausages and eggs in her plates.

"You're up early"

"Busy day"

"What are you doing? Me and Seamus, we're going to Hogsmeade with some Ravenclaws…"

"What? No!" said Hermione, speaking louder than she intended.

"What? Why?" exclaimed Ron.

"I'm going to Hogsmeade with some Ravenclaws," explained Hermione.

"Me too," said Ron.

"Who invited you?" asked Hermione

"Who invited you?" replied Ron

"Miranda asked Lavender who asked Parvati and me."

"And Miranda asked Luna who asked me and Seamus and Dean."

"Well I-" started Hermione

"Everyone's coming then?" said Harry. "Let's meet in ten minutes."

"But, Harry, I thought you had a detention," said Ron.

"Yeah, I'll do it another time. Or not at all. Hogsmeade is more important."

"B-but that's not how detention works," said Ron, "you can't— "

"I'm Harry Potter," said Harry Potter. "I can do whatever I want."

It would have been a good moment for him to get up and leave the table to ensure maximum dramatic effect, but since Ron had barely started his breakfast, he had to wait. When he was done, Miranda who instigated the whole thing finally showed up and she looked downright furious.

"The whole things off! Filch is monitoring the passage. No trip allowed before the official dates from the school administration."

There was a concert of grumbles, protestations and disappointment.

"That's so unfair," ranted Parvati. "We basically saved the school over and over and now they treat us like children — no worse: like second years! And we're almost of age! Hermione's birthday is in two weeks! That's outrageous!"

"I know," said Miranda. "That's what I said to Professor Flitwick when I told him about the trip but—"

"What now?" said Lavender. "You told Professor Flitwick we were skipping the day?" Miranda nodded. "Are you mad? I thought Ravenclaw were supposed to be smart?!"

"Easy now," said Parvarti as Miranda's friends protested in her defence. "I'm sure we still can find a way—"

"How?" asked Lavender. "They'll be looking at every corner now!"

The situation seemed without remedial when Harry got an idea.

"Well, I got an idea. Hogwarts is very old, and I keep finding hidden passages every day. Now listen to me, it might be a crazy idea, but I think there are secret tunnels all over the place. And there's a good chance one leads to outside the school, even right to Hogsmead, probably! We should definitely search for one!"

They all looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. Some with pity, like Hermione, because she knew Harry genuinely believed to have discovered something every first year student knows about Hogwarts. Others, like Ron, looked awkward, thinking about how he should break the news to Harry that he was an git. Parvati just lost patience.

"Of course, Harry-Genius-Potter, except the staff knows about all the passages. The only one they don't know has collapsed, therefore it's useless. Like your suggestion."

"Oh," said Harry, unfazed. "Then we should make a new one."


	4. Intermezzo

**Chapter 4:**

Albus Dumbledore would never cease to be amazed by the ability of people to go on with their lives while the world is breaking all around. You would think the perspective of war looming up, or dramatic events, like a pandemic and global quarantine would force you to reevaluate your life and choices. Now that you have all the time on your hand, you can definitely do all the things you had been putting off for lack of time. Then you realize time was never the issue, because we always have all the time in the world, which is the same amount of time every day, exactly twenty-four hours every twenty-four hours. The issue is you are a lazy slob. Every day, you choose to do something you like over something you wish you liked enough, finishing a silly chapter you've been stuck on for months for example. But don't be too hard on yourself, we never ever learn, and neither did Dumbledore in that particular instance. For the last fifteen years he had been fighting this inertia, trying to disrupt the Ministry of Magic and moving the inamovible Minister Cornelius Fudge. The way this weary man managed to persist in his being and in his office no matter what was nothing short of an unpleasant miracle.

Immediately after Voldermort's body was destroyed for the first time, Albus Dumbledore raised his concern to the freshly elected Minister Fudge about the survival of their enemy, but quickly came to the conclusion that he would not entertain this train of thought. Back then, the magical citizens of Great Britain wanted peace and reassurance; and if Cornelius Fudge said _He-Who-He-Dared-Not-Name_ may have survived, it meant the war was not over. Dumbleredore knew an official support from the ministry would be difficult to secure, however, he was definitely disappointed when all his back channels gave the same answer: not a single sickle would be spent on a hunt against a dead wizard; and his project of forming a secret Auror task force went through the drain. To Cornelius' defence, what Albus Dumbledore asked was not an easy task. Even the most secret meeting of warlock has expenses and needs a budget from the Ministry, and forming that task would have left a paper trail all over the Ministry bureaucracy, up to the Wizengamot Official Bulletin, and there always were a journalist tenacious enough to crawl through the number and budgets, spot a weird addition or a dubious carry to the sum. It would have raised questions. The secret would have been out on the first page of the Daily Prophet the day after.

Perhaps it was all for the best, that the Ministry denied Dumbledore's request. After all,some people might have rejoiced upon learning the Ministry of Magic thought the Death Eater cult leader was not defeated, and still a very _lively _threat. It would have been the Longbottoms disaster all over again. Reason can be deceptive and sometimes, and irony rarely rewards the most intelligent protagonist; perhaps it was accidental wisdom when Cornelius happened to be an incurable idiot. Or maybe he had enough trouble already with his deal with the Goblins to risk a new cover up for the task force to uncover his own covering.

In the end, Albus Dumbledore made a plan of his own, apart from the Ministry, with the Order of the Phoenix. Still, because of the secrecy, limited resources, and no support, Dumbledore soon began to doubt they could face the incoming return of Voldemort alone. And to make it worse, it was not enough to train Harry and hunt Death Eaters, they had to do it covertly, away from Ministry eyes. Years went by until rumours of forgotten curses and words whispered through darkness made Albus grow restless. Even around the Minister for Magic, wizards began to speak a bit too fondly about their _heritage_.

But Dumbledore was faced with an enemy stronger than Voldermort himself, the temptation of power, as for the Ministry of Magic to play his role, he would have to seize him soon. It wouldn't have been difficult to convince enough members of that institution that Cornelius Fudge was not the wizard they needed to win a war, but institutions are more persistent than bad weed. People really don't like to be pushed from their everyday life, especially in a government when they fought so hard to get to the place they are. Of course, when Albus Dumbledore crashes in your office, and drops on the desk the severed head of a Death Eater that was about to take your own, you are more likely to sort out your priorities quickly.

That's when Dumbledore, for all his merits, was faced with its own shortcomings. There were three factions of wizards and witches in the ministry of magic. The first were loyal to him, like Arthur Weasley or Nymphadora Tonks; barely enough to overthrow the Minister of second were lost to the cause, either blind, or, such as Lucius Malfoy converted by the enemy already. The third one, Dumbledore wanted to recruit, those ready to know, but afraid to believe. They had noticed the skirmishes between the Death Eater and the Order of the Phoenix, though they could not acknowledge it officially, and while they didn't necessarily believe Voldermort was leading them, knew dark wizards needed to be stopped. Therefore, when Dumbledore told them a secret army of warlock, determined and trained, was ready to take the Death Eaters down, they felt the situation was handled, and did not require them to take a stance against the Minister of Magic and risk losing their position. They could rest easy at night knowing Albus Dumbledore himself was handling the threat. It takes a brilliant mind like Albus Dumbledore to make such a mistake, he failed to realize how mediocrity takes the world hostage: someone will always do the job that needs to be done, because the capable and the brave are too good to see the world fall; and they will always rise to meet the challenge. At the end of the day, incompetents and cowards learn they were right to slack off, as someone else cleaned the mess, once again. If you do your work right, nobody will ever notice it. When Dumbledore gave hope to the undecided, he also lost their support. In the end, it all worked out, to the cost of an additional couple of years and lives.

As for whether Cornelius Fudge ever found about Dumbledore's insurrectionals tendencies, the Warlock knew not, even today, when the Ministry for Magic was sitting in front of him, in his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"And Harry will get his order of Merlin, first class obviously, he can make a short speech and we'll go to the next part. That will pretty much sum up the ceremony," explained Cornelius Fudge, tapping his bowler hat with satisfaction. "Of course I could give him the news myself, but maybe it's best that you do it yourself, and help him understand how grateful we are for his participation. Everyone loves the _Boy-Who-Lived_"

"If Harry says that he is not interested, it is not within my power to change his mind, Cornelius. He doesn't want to dwell on the past, and I cannot say blame him," said Albus Dumbledore. "He has, in a way, retired from this hero's life. And even if I thought I was capable of changing his mind, I'm not sure I would be able to ask anything of him again. But I'm certain you'll find some other wizard for that, it's not like we're in lack of heroes..."

But Cornelius Fudge would not take no for an answer. Harry Potter he needed and Harry Potter he would get. He was, after all, Ministry for Magic. "You don't understand Albus, the Ministry needs him. I need him. It's a vital mission. And an easy one for the change-"

"There are many others who deserve recognition and would accept it, Minister. In fact, I can think of a couple names right now..."

"But it's also about public perception. People need to know he's on our side," said Cornelius Fudge, as if Dumbledore failed to understand a very obvious point.

"I don't understand why it needs to be Harry Potter specifically," said Dumbledore who understood very well why it needed to be Harry Potter specifically. "And I don't think there's any doubt on which side Harry Potter is… Not everyone can make this claim."

Cornelius replied dismissively. "Water under the bridge, these were very dark times, very dark times indeed..." He waved his hand as if that gesture could dust the subject away. "Nobody is accusing the boy of anything, obviously. It's the opposite! And it's an opportunity for the public to get to know him better. We haven't spent as much time with him as you did, Albus…"

"He has all my confidence" said Albus Dumbledore calmly," I trust him entirely, and that should be enough for everyone, unless, ahem, as you say, the public doubt on which side I might turn to..."

"Don't be dramatic Albus!" protested Cornelius. "Of course no one would doubt you! But people are talking, and making arguments that even I can't dismiss. The boy knows things, things you had to teach him to win the war, and the Ministry of Magic understands that. The Improper Usage of Magic Office knows he's a special case, don't worry, we all know it was for the greater goods.

"But you can understand why some people worry about letting him wander around. Such exotic magic he does... Such powerful spells, Albus, from a young wizard, with such a tragic childhood… under the wrong circumstances, it's a recipe for disaster, don't tell me you haven't thought about that yourself."

Dumbledore fell silent. His face was a wall. Even the most gifted legilimens wouldn't have been able to tell what the Headmaster was thinking of, and Cornelius was not a gifted legilimens.

The Minister pressed his argument. "They need to be reassured. That's why they need to know him better. And this is the opportunity. He'll make a speech, give a couple of interviews, and everyone will be happy."

"Has Harry done anything dangerous since he arrived at Hogwarts,?" asked Dumbledore simply. He looked deeply in Cornelius eye's and no responses came. "No, therefore there is no reason to worry about what he could do!"

"You know as well as I do that it's not as simple as that," said Cornelius. He straightened up, holding Dumbledore's gaze. "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Two wars proved that."

It was a bit dramatic, but Cornelius Fudge was very happy about the way he delivered the line. Savoring the moment, he looked how Dumbledore had reclined on his seat and joined the tips of his fingers together, probably racking his brain for a clever comeback.

"I think Voldemort was corrupted before he had power," said Dumbledore, ignoring Cornelius' faint twitch. "In fact his powers only revealed the extent of his corruption… not the way around… of course one might wonder..." He looked beyond Cornelius Fudge and gazed upon his own office for a moment. It was dusty and old, with layers of memories etched on the walls: books, vials, shiny instruments, enchanted tapestries hanging on the walls, occult parchments covered in black dots stacked in a chest, bricks with locks of them. Dumbledore felt his mind was as aged and encumbered as the room.

"However, Harry Potter is still a student, and as such, under the responsibility of Hogwarts and Hogwarts Headmaster, who happens to be me."

"Indeed, he his, and the Ministry recognize, your authority, Headmaster," said Cornelius Fudge with a little bow, "however, as a community, we must ask ourselves this question: why so many of our children became Death Eaters? Despite being provided the best care in the best school that is Hogwarts? It is my responsibility, as Minister for Magic, to prevent the rise of dark wizards. And let me tell you, Albus, the Department of Magical Education has a very interesting idea about that, very innovative…"

Cornelius Fudge usually only visited him for two reasons, to seek counsel he then wouldn't heed, or to give unsolicited advice. This time, the minister had become more confident.

"And I'm sure the Board of School will read the Department of Magical Education propositions very thoroughly," lied Dumbledore. "However, as of today, since, Harry Potter has broken no laws, and no law can compel him to accept an award, I'm afraid the ministry has no authority here. Harry's behaviour has been exemplary, in fact, I've never seen a better..."

Dumbeldore praise was drowned by a growing rumble coming from the ground. The bricks, The walls trembled. All the room started to shake and Dumbledore golden teacup clicked against his golden saucer until…

**BBRRRRRROOOOOOooooOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM !**

The earthquake shook the castle in a deafening growl, books and vials fell from the shelves and the Minister, feeling his chair falling under him, jumped just in time.

"What's happening!" cried Cornelius Fudge, reaching frantically for his wand. "An attack?!"

Albus Dumbledore had drawn his wand too, and quickly went for the third drawer in his deck; he looked at parchment Cornelius could not see. It was a live map of Hogwarts.

"Nothing to worry about, Minister," said Dumbledore. "Rehabilitation works... They are a bit loud on the weekend."

"Rehabilitation? I thought the school was completely repaired?! That won't do at all Albus, everything must be ready for the ceremony!"

"A simple extension to accommodate the new students," said Dumbledore and, since Cornelius was still standing, he took the opportunity of walking him out, before the minister could recover from the shock and notice he was being dismissed.

Once Dumbleder was alone, the portrait of Finneas Black exploded.

"Rehabilitation works? Rehabilitation works ?!" the portrait repeated, incredule. "Even you can't cover that up Headmaster! Potter just blew up half the school!"

* * *

'Blowing up half the school' was definitely an overstatement, although there was a visible crack in the Great Hall floor. To Harry's defence, his tunneling spell had worked perfectly and who could have predicted it would magic his way through a secret stash of unstable powder put by gobelins a couple of decades ago in provision for an uprising, right under the Quidditch pitch? When you think about it, we should be lucky that Harry blew it up now, before the start of the season, or else it could have happened during a match. Fortunately, Harry and his friends were underground when the explosion occurred. Harry had taken them to a damp room below the lake. It was partially flooded, and they didn't hear a thing, thankfully. Ronald Weasley would have had a meltdown if he'd realise the Quidditch stadium had collapsed. Instead, he looked around the strange room with his lit wand.

"Blimey Hermione," he whispered, "I think we're in the Chamber of Secrets!"

"What are you talking about? The Chamber is a hoax," she whispered back, then took another look. "Why do you think that?"

"A hoax?" exclaimed Ron as quietly as he could. "Hermione! Look at the statues! It's bloody Salazard! With snakes all over it. Pretty much a giveaway if you ask me."

Hermione looked around and was forced to admit Ron was right. They looked at each other, both were extremely pale. They had followed Harry Potter blindly, through the castle, through the bathroom, through the pipes, through the tunnels covered with dead critters, into that place.

"Harry," asked Hermione timidly. "How did you find out about this place? I'm a bit curious, because we've explored Hogwarts a lot, and none of us knew about it, right folks?"

Ron, Seamus and Dean, Parvati, Lavender, Miranda and Luna shook off their heads.

Harry was busy clearing up the edge of the tunnel with his wand and gave form and structure to the excavation. He shrugged. "I don't know. You've got to listen to the Castle and it will tell you what you need, really."

"You... listened to the Castle?" repeated Hermione.

"Yes. It's something I noticed after getting lost all week. If you concentrate on where you want to go, the castle will show you the way. It's the destination that matters, not the path you take along. If you think about the path, then you get lost; keep focus on the target. I thought about a place from which we could dig a way to Hogsmeade and here we are."

"And did... did _Hogwarts _tell you if it was safe?" asked Hermione. "Maybe that room was kept a _secret _for good reason..."

"Nah, there's nothing alive here except for us," replied Harry. He took a moment to admire his work. The entrance was shaped like a door frame with a sign above "To Hoggsme'd" — Harry was still weak on his spelling, then again he hadn't attended many grammar lessons in his life. It was mostly straight and he conjured a lantern filled with an Imperishable Flame to hang on the entrance, for future students to use.

"That's it, now it looks like a real secret passage!" said Harry with satisfaction. "Let's go."

The group followed him in the tunnel but Parvati and Hermione lagged behind to cast a couple of detection spells, in case Harry wasn't aware of the legends about the Beast of Salazard. They all came back negative.

It took them one hour to meet the end of the tunnel. Along the way, each of them took turns to conjure walls and a floor along the way. It was a weird patchwork with no consistency but they were all happy with it. In fact, each segment was a deep reflection of their inner soul, but the description would be tedious, let's skip it and hurry to the good parts. They emerged to a very fresh air, through a small crater just behind Madam Puddifoot shop. Parvati and Miranda repaired the grounds and Lavender transfigured a stone into a manhole to cover the entrance. They looked around; it was lucky no one had noticed them.

Hermione and Luna wanted to visit a new witch's shop installed where the Shrieking Shack used to sit; Miranda and Parvati chatted their way to the bookshop. Seamus and Dean spent the morning admiring brooms and making provisions in sweets from Honeydukes; Ron followed them. As for Harry, he said he "wanted to go somewhere" but Lavender reminded him about the Dreamatorium and before he could protest, she had steered him down the hill with a firm hand, into the magical salon.

It was like stepping into a place of _One Thousand and One Nights. _He followed Lavender down a tight stairway, into a room covered in persian carpets and he arranged a couple satin cushions into a small couch for himself while she prepared the dream essence into the old ethereal dispenser at the center.

"Just relax and let the dream waves penetrate you and infuse your mind," she whispered to his ears, laying down on the other side of the cushions, so that their heads almost touched. "It will only takes you where you want to go."

Harry concentrated on his breath, taking long inhales and exhales and observed the mystical smoke fill the room; yet he wasn't relaxed at all. Worst, he now was unable to breathe without thinking very conciensoully; it was not the way to go. After a couple of minutes, he started to get bored. It had felt like a good idea to go to Hogsmeade with his classmate but why was he so enthousiast about it? He had in mind a vague vision of a normal schoolboy hanging out with friends doing funny stuff, but suddenly it felt like it was out of reach somehow. His mind wandered back to the Ministry sealed letter that triggered the impromptu trip.

He had received it a couple of days ago, and after reading it, went to see the Headmaster after the last class.

Dumbledore had greeted him with a smile. "Ah! Harry! What a pleasure, for I wished to speak with you, and it seems that you came to speak with me, and so it came to pass that two great minds meet, If you allow me to be immodest on your behalf as well."

"Sure, sure. But flattery will lead you to nowhere, old man!"

"Oh Harry my boy!" had protested Dumbledore, feigning to be hurt, "no need to get defensive all of a sudden! Let's take the time to discuss the subject." He had pulled a very old bottle from under his desk and poured two glasses. "My best Mudbourbon, as old as I am!"

"I don't think I'm supposed to drink at school," had said Harry, "nor you offering."

"It's your loss," had replied Dumbledore, and he had emptied the first glass into the other. The glass was too short, but the liquid didn't spill over; instead, it held in the air, as if the glass was transparent…

"Courtesy of Sirius," had commented Dumbledore.

Harry had pulled the letter from his envelope and showed it to Dumbledore. "I suppose you already know what it is about?"

"Yes, Harry, I am aware. The Ministry is asking for help with—"

"No," had said Harry, arms crossed. "I won't do it."

Dumbledore had put his glass on the desk and frowned.

"Then I'm afraid we have a problem. Because Cornelius Fudge himself is coming tomorrow and I don't think we're going to talk about Hagrid begonia — which is a shame really, they are quite wonderful."

"From my seat it seems you have a problem with the Minister."

"It can't be helped then." He took a sip. "The school will be swarming with journalists though. Maybe you could wear your best _cloak_," had said Dumbledore, cleverly, or so he thought, with an emphasis on the _cloak_.

But Hermione needed the Invisibility cloak. "It's all about moustache," muttered Harry in his head. Why was he thinking about moustaches, of all of a sudden ? Well moustaches are thick and twirly, like the spirals of distilled dream essence in the room, twirling around, rings of smoke, whispers of smog. Sirius had a glorious moustache, yapping around, probably great with the Witches, pity he was stuck at Grimmauld Place. "Maybe I should be more flexible with the Minister," though Harry. His collaboration would be a trading chip against his Godfather freedom, but Sirius would never accept that. Or maybe he would, as he often says: _reeds fold but never breaks except when shit hits the fan._ Now that he thought about it, Harry wondered how Sirius, a magical raised wizard even knew about fans. There was no ventilation in the room though, and it was filled with mist. Lavender didn't mind, apparently. He wondered what she was thinking about, but didn't dare to ask and disturb her.

* * *

Lavender was laying on a cloud, calm and content with the feeling that the air in her lungs was the same as the air outside, with a warm breeze on her bare skin. Rubbing herself against the cloud, her body rocked up and down, as if a gentle wave passed through, on the rythme on her breeze. All of a sudden someone swept her off, a hand passed behind her back and grabbed her shoulder, one hand across her lower back grabbed her buttocks and lifted her. She buried her head into the man's chest, wrapped her arm and legs around him. Smiling from ear to ear, she thought, "I'm about to get shagged!" And with a thrust, he took her like a stag in rut.

* * *

It took a moment for Harry to realize he had been awake for a while, and therefore he had been asleep before, though he didn't remember when it happened. He started to move a little and felt something pressing against him; it was Lavender, huddled against him. Somehow in their sleep they had moved and ended up in each other's arms. The fact that she could have been so close to him in his sleep proved how relaxed he had become; one lifetime ago, his instincts would have kicked him awake and kicked her hard. Instead he felt warm and grounded by Lavender's presence, and at peace; it was a hug his body had ached for his whole life and only now he realized how much it had hurt, and how it didn't anymore.

After a moment of eternity, Lavender woke up with a yawn.

"Oh Harry you are awake too? Let's move then. We don't want to fall asleep again, they overcharge you like crazy." And with those words, she got up, and the moment was over, leaving Harry with a hollow weight along his body.

Back at the Castle, when they all parted, Lavender took Harry aside and kissed him on the cheek; Hermione noticed it and gave an amused smile.

"What did she do that for!?" asked Ron in disbelief, once Lavender was out of sight.

"No idea," replied Harry while Seamus mouthed _The-Boy-Who-Shagged_ behind him. The taunt worked, Ron was furious.

Hermione looked disappointed and left as well.


	5. The Foreign Exchange Student

**Chapter 5: Harry Potter and the foreign exchange student**

On Monday arrived the ministry officials, journalists, special guests, esteemed guests, less reputable guests, and party crashers. They all gathered on Hogwarts grounds for the first occurrence of the Harry Potter National Day - working title. The planning was placed on the Great Hall Information Board to inform the students that at 10 am a press conference from the Ministry of Magic would start. At twelve, a formal lunch between the Head of Aurors, and members of the former resistance army, including but not limited to Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. At four pm where students would gather in the Great Hall for a ceremony of victory, several speeches, including the very famous Harry Potter, all followed by a complimentary buffet. And in the evening, the exclusive gala dinner - _invitations only - _where the most fortunate members for the wizards society would pledge to the victims of the war relief funds. As much to say no Weasleys were invited.

And obviously, much to the students dismay, the morning periods were not cancelled and so the Gryffindors headed to the dungeons for potions with their least favourite teacher, Professor Snape. The teacher's mood was downright execrable, worst as usual. He took twenty points from Gryffondors because Lavender Brown looked too giddy on such a grave day, twenty points more because Ron protested, and fifty more because Seamus suggested in a loud whisper that _Isn't that strange that Snape isn't happy to celebrate the fall of the Dark Lord_.

The Potion Professor was even turning his back to the class as he took the register and stopped in the middle of it, around Parvati's name.

"I wonder if there is really a point of this," he said, in a slow voice, still facing the blackboard. "Why in heaven sake should I devote my time to this class, since it has become clear to me some of you have no regard for their education."

He paused, relishing in the anxiety these words triggered across the class.

"A student, which shall not be named, as we have to endure his name enough already, has shown nothing but insolence and disrespect towards our craft. Of course he was given an opportunity to make amends with a detention. And yet… care to guess what he did instead?"

Nobody answered. All looked at Professor Snape's back, standing tall in his black robes, at the front of the class. And it was barely through an audible whisper that he uttered "He didn't care to attend his detention."

At these words, Neville went as pale as a shroud, Hermione opened her mouth in horror and even Parvati looked uneasy. And it finally clicked for Ron. "Harry, is he speaking about you?" he whispered. Next to him Harry shrugged, but Ron had drawn attention to him, and everyone was staring at him, now.

Snape, continued. "I will now ask that student to get up and explain to us why he thinks he's above us and the rules of this venerable school."

Seconds stretched to interminables minutes, but Harry remained unfazed while everyone but Snape stared at him. Then, slowly, Harry searched in his bag and retrieved a pair of thick black glasses as well as a fake moustache he applied to his face. Yet he didn't move.

Oblivious to what had just happened, Snape continued. "I thought bravery was a Gryffindor value, _tss tss tss_." He clicked his tongue. "They're really letting anyone in, these days, what a shame…"

He turned dramatically around and shouted, "Potter! I'm talking to- WHAT IS THAT THING ON YOUR FACE POTTER ?!"

Harry didn't answer and looked politely interested, unconcerned, with a bushy moustache across his face...

"TAKE THAT THING OFF IMMEDIATELY POTTER!" roared Snape, with a shaking finger pointed at him.

"Me?" asked Harry with a puzzled look. He looked behind, and back. "Me? I'm not Harry Potter"

"ENOUGH OF THIS POTTER!"

"I'm not Harry Potter, Sir, I'm…Haeee- Henry… _Henry Plotter_, I'm the transferred student."

For a moment it seems to be a fatal blow for Professor Snape, as if something inside was definitely broken. But, powering through his blinding hate, he regained composure and counter the blow.

"Oh!" he said with a feign surprised. "You're not Harry Potter-"

"I'm sorry Sir, who's that Harry Potter you're talking about? Because I've never heard-"

"You're not Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived? The _ahem_, 'hero' for which the Ministry of Magic goes to such length to honor for his so-called _effort_ in the war against the Dark Lord?"

"I don't know of such individuals. I'm Henry Plotter, but in my school, in the … _United_… _Countries _we had also had a dark wizard _He-Whose-Name-Is-Not-Said-Out-Loud_. The Somber Lard Voldemerde."

"_Finite Incantatis!_" bellowed Professor Snape, after his short patience had run out once again. The spell splashed right across Henry's face but barely disturbed his glorious moustache. For a moment it seems the teacher was about to hit him with something more sinister but a silvery figure sprang out of his wand instead. And very quietly he murmured, "I've called the Headmaster Potter, so that he can witness himself the reason for your expulsion."

Henry Plotter waited by rolling his thumbs and soon, Professor Dumbledore knocked and entered. He looked delighted, with a twinkle in his eye, sparkling with malice, behind his half moon spectacle.

"Yes, Severus, you called for me …?"

"Headmaster," said Severus with a little bow, "once again, Harry Potter has decided to make a fool of himself and mock this class and Hogwarts Professors…"

"But I'm not Harry Potter," interrupted Henry Plotter. "Sir, I'm Henry Plotter. I transferred today and-"

"AS I TOLD YOU HEADMASTER," said Snape, covering Henry's voice. "Mr Potter thinks he's above our—"

"Oh Henry m'boy," exclaimed Dumbledore with twinkling malice. "Professor Snape, I must have forgotten to inform you, Mr Henry Plotter arrived this morning, he will stay with us for some time. The Gryffindor house has offered to take care of him. That's very generous by the way. Fifty points from Gryffindor!"

A horrible realization dawned on Snape. That Dumbledore in league with _the boy_. But he was not ready to admit defeat yet. "And from where is it supposed to have transferred, Headmaster?" he asked, with a contrived smile.

"From .._.Hogword School of... Witchery and... Wizardization_, Sir," said Henry.

"Of course, of course, good old Hogword," said Professor Dumbledore while stroking his long beard. "How's the Headmaster doing?" he asked with a half moon glance to Henry, behind his deep blue spectacles. "I seem to have his name on the tip of my hat but can't remember for the life of me."

"It's Professor Bumblebee, Sir, _Gandalf _Bumblebee. He extends his greetings."

"Of course! Henry m'y b'oy! Good old Bumblebee!" Professor Dumbledore made a small twinkling nod. "Very good, thank you Mr Plotter for reminding me. Hundred points for Gryffindor!" He was beaming.

"Oh is the house called Gryffindor?" commented Henry. "What a weird coincidence in my school we call that _GoldLionBird…_"

"Well, I'm glad this misunderstanding has been cleared, Severus. A thousand points for Gryffindor! Professor Severus Snape, I now leave you to your class," twinkled Dumbledore with a twinkle and he twinkled away from the room, twinkling a twinkle of twinkles behind his twinkles.

"Oh! his name is Severus Snape?" exclaimed Henry loudly. "What a coincidence, in my school we call him Mr _Pillockus Twat_."

* * *

"Are you mad?" exclaimed Ron with admiration. "You are mad! How the hell did you do that?"

"I do not know what is the thing you are talking about," replied Henry. They had just left the potions class and all Gryffondors headed for the next lesson. Yet, the news Snape complete defeat had already spread across the school, and random students would give Henry the thumb up, an encouraging tap in the back, and even a couple of alluring smiles.

"You're a genius Harry!"

"Good job mate!"

Indeed, the popularity of Harry was skyrocketing. First the new secret passage to Hosmead every student had learnt and was itching to try. Then finally putting Snape in place. And in less than a week!

"Even us are impressed," said Fred once, passing by, with George acquising vigorously on the side.

"Can't believe they wouldn't reopen their shop and go back to school instead," said Ron. "I know I wouldn't..."

"What I don't understand is how Professor Snape's spell didn't work... " said Hermione with a frown. "Except if... Of course! That's not a spell, that's a muggle deguisement. Of course the counter-curse wouldn't work on it! That's so stupid it's brillant."

"... and that's what you got from the Hogsmead post the other day, am I right Harry?!" said Ron, with a quick glance to Hermione, to check if she wanted to compliment his deduction skills. She didn't.

"Again," repeated Henry, "I don't know who that Harry Potter bloke is, but from what you're saying he looks very smart and tight."

"Why do you think Harry won't take part in the Ceremony?" asked Lavender. "It's for the battle and liberation of Hogwarts. We all fought, it would mean a lot to us, Hogwarts students, if he showed up."

"I dunno of that thing you are asking about," replied Henry. "Maybe that sexy Harry Potter didn't take part in the event that is Hogwarts battle and as such henceforth has nothing to say about such an occurrence of— OUCH!"

A Witch in a hurry had crashed into him.

"Watch where you're going, kids." She fixed her glass and gauged them from head to toes. "Ohhh you're Gryffondors, you're in the same class as Harry Potter then. I'm sure you have a lot of things to talk about." She extended her hand and shook all of them with a surprising speed. "Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet. I'm certain you want to share your experience-"

"Harry Potter?" repeated Henry. "Never heard of him!" And he dashed away without looking back.

And all day long, Henry would escape and flee the press and ministry officials. And because it was clear that Harry didn't want to be bothered, Hermione and Ron had spent the word across the school and no Gryffindor replied to any journalist sollicitations. Harry was very grateful for that, or at least Henry guessed he would, having never met him, he couldn't speak for him.

Meanwhile, Hogwarts was swarming with guests, and thankfully, none were as nosy as Rita Skeeter. Over the day, Henry ran into Nymphadora Tonks, who didn't recognize him, flanked by Mad Eye Moody who assumed Harry was disguised for good reasons and said nothing. Then came Mr and Mrs Weasley and Percy, Ms Longbottom, Seamus' mother, Fleur Delacour, Deladus Diggle, Amos Diggory, Newt Scamander but having never met any of them, Henry passed them by without a word.

Around the corner of a stair leading to the Great Hall, Henry also passed a large figure, an old witch, who, out of nowhere, grabbed his wrist.

"You! Boy!" she barked, "where do you think you're going?"

With a nift swift jerk of the hand, Henry freed himself from the surprisingly firm grip and took a better look at her assaillant.

She looked like the kind of Witch Harry thought Witches were like when he was still living with Dursleys. Long pointed black hat with worned out brim. Blacks robes with twigs sticking out of improbable places and a hunch on the top of her back that made her look strangely bulky. Her face was riddled with wrinkles like an old parchment whose colour turned to a faint yellow. A long hooked nose with a wart. The only things that seemed not old or dirty were her two lilac eyes, that looked straight at Henry with a mixture of hostility and impatience, as if she had enough of tis conversation already.

"We're supposed to go to the Great Hall for the Ceremony. Where are _you _going? Who are you by the way?" he replied.

"Did you really think I'm going to let you leave the mess you made — Shut up!"

"What?"

"I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to _him_." With a sudden movement of her shoulder, she revealed what Henry thought was a hunch was in a large crow with a large beak. He let out an angry croak in protestation.

"Whatever," replied the old witch to her familiar. "Has anyone taught you not to put your shit in other people's backyard? I thought this school's supposed to teach you manners."

"I have literally no idea what you are talking about. I think you're mistaken—"

"Don't play games with me Potter boy!" she barked once again. "Your fight with Voldemort or whatever. You've left dangerous spells and dark stuff all over the country. The stench is horrible and everything's fucked, it's so bad I could follow it right back to you. Have you any idea how dangerous—"

"I did what I had to do," said Harry. He was really annoyed. How dare the growns up show up now, giving him lessons after they had him do all the job. "And all that is just temporary, anyway, things will get better on their own.. Probably. Just give it some time."

"GIVE IT SOME TIME?" bellowed the witch and grabbed Harry's arm once again. "Now listen you little tick, you're coming with me right now to clean your mess. Because it's a shit-covered—"

At the moment Professor McGonagall showed up and she was livid with rage. "HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE?!"

The old witch let go of Harry's hand and plunged it inside her robes, clutching at her wand.

"Minerva," she said, with a mean smile. "How long has it been?"

If Professor McGonagall's eyes could launch a lightning bolt, the old Witch would have been struck on sight. Fortunately, her eyes couldn't. Her wand could though. She howld. "OUT! OUT! YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED HERE!"

"I was invited though," replied the old witch, "and she extracted from her pocket a dirty letter all crumpled up. Harry recognized it immediately, he had received the same invitation from the Ministry of Magic to attend today's ceremony.

"The Ministry has no authority over Hogwarts and much less to overturn your rustication," replied Professor McGonagall in a razor sharp voice.

"Ah! You finally agree with me! Let's go blow up that— "

"The Headmaster will escort you out of the ground, you old _witchicker_," said Professor McGonagall as she summoned Professor Dumbledore with her wand. "You, Mr Plotter, move on to the Great Hall, now now," she said to Henry.

"Do call that wanker," said the old Witchicker, "I have a couple of things to say to that old crackpot." She turned to Harry. "This conversation is not over, boy! I'll stay at Hogsmeade, and make sure you own up to your crap. Because Good God! Just because you've got a fancy Castle you all think you're so smart.. Bumbling idiots..."

* * *

All the speeches combined lasted for about one thousand years and the end of which everyone had died and Hogwarts had crumbled, the magic population had withered for lack of procreation, and now this story is about the post-apocalyptic word muggle lives in, or so it felt like, until Cornelius Fudge finally stopped talking, and called Harry Potter on the stage. There was a long pause, then an awkward pause as Harry Potter didn't show up.

"Harry Potter? Is Harry Potter here? Come on Mr Potter! A round of applause for Harry Potter!"

And against all odds, pushing through sheer inconsequence, Cornelius was right, because before he could realize what he was doing, Harry had said "I am."

Driven by a mysterious urge emerging somewhere in his lower body, he had removed his glorious moustache and gotten up. Silence fell on the Great Hall for a moment, but a moment only; immediately after that cameras clicked like artillery and quick flashes crackled across the Hall, spitting puffs of green and violet smoke in the air. All tried to catch a glimpse of the elusive Legendary Survivor. Before he could realize it happened, Harry had shaken the Minister's hand, and you could already see how good that picture would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet the very next morning. Harry stood standing behind the conference desk, without even a glance at the very long speech prepared for him, and two thousands pairs of eyes fixed on him, watching his every move, reporters ready to fire their quills.

"Dear Witches and Wizards…"

Harry stopped. He took a long breath, feeling in the atmosphere of the room and let his eyes wander across the Great Hall, passing over so many faces of people he didn't know. And some he recognized. Rita Skeeter's quill was dancing widely across the witch notebook. On the side, Snape was smiling viciously. Professor McGonagall was here and looked worried and Albus Dumbledore immensely sad.

"Fighting Voldemort is the only thing I've done in my life, as such I have much to learn at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; and I'm very grateful to be there. And you all have come here to meet me, to get to know me. What can I tell you? Well, classes are great, Hogsmead is fun. I'm very eager to graduate and become a contributing member of the society, and give back to the community.

"Because, the truth is I've never fought for you, because I don't know you. I haven't thought of any of you, not even once. Nor did I care. I've battled heavens and hells alike, and wandered into realms and magic one would never dare venture. I've seen evil from beyond, soul so corrupted and humanity ripped to shreds. I've delved into fields of ruins and salted earth which shall never bear fruit again and all that is lively forever debased. It explains why my botanical school project keeps dying, am I right ?"

Harry waited a few seconds to see how his poor attempt at a joke landed. It crashed like a Weasley's bank account.

".. and so today, as we meet today at least, I have come say to you, the fighters and victims, the battlemages and the warlocks, the braves and the cowards, the survivors and the deceased, the widowers and the widows, the departed and the left behind. Really you didn't have to bother. They kind of died for nothing if you ask me. Not that it matters, you're all gonna die anyway, at some point. The thing I have learnt, is that life is not that important, really. What was important was Voldemort. It was all about me and Voldemort. Hurray for me, I have defeated him.

"Anyway, that's all for me tonight, thank you very much, have a great evening. And if you have an apprenticeship or summer job opportunity, just give me a call — wait they don't have phones here — just send me an owl. Thank you and good night."

* * *

November came and cold rains replaced falling leaves over the grounds of Hogwarts as witches traded their thighs for warmer longer socks. Male students did the same by the way, as it was a gender neutral cloth for wizards, except the muggle borns, most were reluctant to, as they said, _dress like girls_. Well, some say it takes three generations to make a gentlewarlock.

Stuck around the Castle, chimneys now regularly erupted with grey smoke in the grey sky, watching over the students, as they begrudgingly headed outside, towards the botanical greenhouse, and hurriedly back to spend the afternoon by the fire. In the Gryffindor Room, the wetter were the socks, the coziest were the cushion around a crackling fireplace, and more welcoming the lover's shoulder, the curve of a thigh, a sweet delight. And while autumn transited towards winter, the aftermath of Harry's infamous speech settled.

The Minister was furious that Harry didn't acknowledge the Ministry effort and the Daily Prophet was now assassinating Harry every other day, headlines over headlines.

_Merciless and Morbid, Potter Mocks Minister for Magic_

_Hero or Zero? Spoiled Brat Spit "I don't care" on Soldier's Graves_

_The Boy-Who-Threatens "You're all gonna die:" How's Potter's Pout Pours Poison in Wizard's Wounds_

_Tits-for-tats for Potter: Trial Over Lost Trust  
_

_Blind Trust in Dumb Dumbledore's Protegee Put Hogwarts into a Bind_

_Lock him up! Dark Lord Potter Wannabe's Wild Rant Looms Over World Peace_

As for Harry's classmates, their behaviour had not changed toward him because, for one they didn't read the papers and two, did you really expect a flock of teenargers actually listen to an afternoon of speakers from the government? Yet it didn't prevent Lavender from thanking Harry for his touching speech. She hadn't really paid attention to the words either, but appreciated the intention nevertheless.

That morning, peeking his nose through the crack of the windows of his dormitory, Harry took a long inhale, to smell the air, heavy with rain from the night, and somehow caught a flagrance of something fresh and faint, perhaps a scottish rose surviving against the wall and all odds. To a well trained nose, morning's air is just a book itching to be open, and will tell you how the weather is going to turn, what happened during the night, and what magic lingers on. It was an habit he'd caught on and now, Harry wasn't really awake until he felt the exterior air inside his lungs.

Breakfast in the Great Hall surprised Harry Potter with an owl from the Ministry of Magic, Justice Department, a good change from the usual insult letters. He read the letter and threw his fork into his plate of sausages with frustrations.

"What happened?" asked Ron, mouth filled with mashed potatoes, because he did enjoy mashed potatoes for breakfast and Hogwarts is a very inclusive school, so despite the disgust we all feel when confronted with this abhorrent sight so early in the morning, we shall not judge him; we're better than that.

"The Ministry rejected Sirius' appeal again." said Harry with a frown. "Said it doesn't follow procedures…"

"Who's that Sirius bloke?" asked Ron, washing down the potatoes with pumpkin juice. Mashed potatoes with pumpkin juice. Really Ron? How awful...

"My Godfather, Sirius Black, he's—"

"Argh — SIRIUS BLACK?! THE ESCAPED MURDERED? HE IS YOUR GODFATHER?" exclaimed Ron, after coughing up his pumpkin juice all over his plate.

"Yes, Sirius Black," replied Harry, "he's my Godfather, I thought it was common knowledge by the way. Turns out he's innocent, he's never killed anyone." Harry made a pause. "Except a couple of Death Eaters but it doesn't count. Professor Dumbledore helped him escape from Azkaban so I could live with him…"

"DUMBLEDORE'S BROKE SIRIUS BLACK OUT OF AZKABAN?!" exclaimed Ron again, but this time he showered the whole Gryffindor table with pumpkin juice, revealing the shape of Hermione under the invisibility cloak.

"You didn't know? I thought everyone knew that," said Harry. "But the Ministry says even if he's innocent, they cannot start a revision of his trial, because he had no trial in the first place..."

"That's dumb!" said Hermione who had literally appeared out of thin air between the two boys. She was livid.

"...and the only thing they can do, according to the letter, is to commute is sentence to the time he has already done, except they can't do that until he comes back to Azkaban…"

"That's outrageous!"

"... and since Azkaban has been destroyed by us after it was turned into the Death Eater headquarters, he cannot go back either." Harry put down the parchment and looked at his friends. "Don't you think that it's a bit unfair that he has to stay hidden even now? If they forgave Snape, why can't they do the same for him?"

"What do you mean they forgave Snape?" asked Ron, pouring himself another glass of pumpkin juice, because he hadn't managed to swallow a single drop yet.

"Snape used to be a Death Eater," explained Harry, "He wanted to bone my mother but got her killed. I thought everyone knew that."

"SNAPE USED TO BE A DEATH EATER?!" bellowed Ron and this time the pumpkin juice rained down the Great Hall for at least thirty seconds which allowed Snape to snake through the staff door after a very awkward two seconds of exchanging glance with the rest of the staff, while the crowd were distracted, conjuring umbrellas to protect themself from the juice, falling down from the ceiling, like an orange sticky rain.

"Harry, I'm so sorry about your mum, it must have been awful, Snape's really disgusting" said Hermione, "but I may have a solution for Sirius. Meet me at the usual spot at the library after class." She carefully observed Ron cleaning himself of pumpkin juice and said, "you can come too." And she vanished under the cape once again.

* * *

As usual, Harry was late, which left Ron and Hermione sitting across each other in an awkward silence.

"So how have you been Hermione, I feel like we haven't talked together since … you know."

It was true. Since they have broken up, or, that Hermione had dumped him like an old sock, they never had a private good conversation. Of course, they would be cordial most of the time, and could even behave like they used to with other people around.

"I'm good, mostly," said Hermione. "Everything's different now, after everything's that happened it's weird. What about you?"

"I wish everything could go back as before, but I suppose that's not possible I guess. I miss that time even if you don't."

"Listen Ron," said Hermione, "the time we spend together, you know it means a lot to me-"

"What did you break up then?!" asked Ron. "Because, you know I miss you. And I know there's still something here. Don't tell me you don't feel it."

"Of course I do feel it Ron. But you were impossible! One minute it's like we're married and the other you get jealous over Lavender because she's seeing someone else. And I can't tell what you want to do with me, which would be fine if you didn't get angry because I didn't know either."

Ron had become a little pale. "I had no idea you felt like that. I reckon living with my folks so long didn't help," he said.

"You don't say."

"But I assume it was what you wanted. You and me, a couple, a relationship. Otherwise I might have not been in a hurry, but with all the war going I guess I was afraid we'd run out of time."

"But now we've got a lot of time and you shouldn't assume what I want, you should ask me instead."

"Alright, I'm sorry. What did you want then?"

"You wouldn't understand," said Hermione.

"It's a relief then," said Ron. He layed back on his chair, hand behind his head. "I felt bad because I didn't understand, turns out it's just that I can't. It's a blessing I'm not as smart as you are."

"Shut up," said Hermione with a small smile.

"But seriously, try me. What do you want?"

Hermione took a moment to give a response. "I wish that we could spend time together without you making a big deal out of it. That you weren't afraid I might leave because I can't promise you that I'll stay. And I don't want to feel like you're missing out on another girl when you're with me. Because maybe you'll be with her, if that's what you want, I don't know what the future holds. We're sixteen Ron! Did you know wizards live up to one hundred and fifty? Sometimes more. That's a looooong time. But I don't want to be a clutch for your ego. The one you need constantly for everything. I feel like you're always the one asking from me and I'm in the position to yield or refuse. You have to let me ask too. Because girls can get horny too. Things can be nice and easy and sweet, and we don't have to overthink it, or talk too much about it. "

"That's fine by me — no really! It's a relief, because I don't want to overthink anything either. In fact I'd rather not think at all"

"Alright," said Hermione. "I'm glad we're on the same page now."

There was a pause, as both of them started to overthink what being on the same page actually meant.

"Soo, what do we do now?..." asked Ron

"I don't know, what do you want to do? We could..." replied Hermione.

Ron hesitated, but, having mastered his resolve, got up, went to Hermione and whispered something to Hermione's ear, so low even the book couldn't hear.

She went pink. "Alright, but promise me you won't make it more than it is."

"Deal," replied Ron. "Now give me your panties."

* * *

In the meantime Harry was lost around the seventh floor, misled by the Castle once again. He was already one hour late, and it took him another thirty minutes to find his way to Hermione's table at the library.

"Oh Harry! That's you!" said Hermione, startled. "I didn't expect you so early."

Harry looked at his watch, puzzled. "Actually I'm very late. I was afraid you'd left already. Where's Ron?"

A voice emerged from under the table. "I'm here!" Ron, flushed and very red, had appeared from under it and got up.

"I was .. I dropped my quill," he explained, answering Harry's silent question. Harry thought that Ron must have been very out of shape if getting down under a table caused him to be out of breath but again, Hogwarts hadn't much P.E class, so he didn't make any comment, took a chair, and sat down.

"What did you want to say, Hermione?" asked Harry. Then he noticed she was very red, probably frustrated over the traduction of ancient runs. "Or perhaps I could come back later, once you're finished with your homework?"

"Nonsense, Sirius is more important," said Hermione, "besides, I don't expect to be done anytime soon..." She glanced at Ron who made a sad puppy face. "By the way, it's more your idea that mine, really, and from what I found, I think it could work."

"My idea? What do you mean?"

"It's from your Henry Plotter deguisement —"

"I have no idea who that is," said Harry at once. "But I like to meet that _Henry Plotter_ you keep talking about, he seems a nice bloke."

"Sure, sure," said Hermione with impatience.

She explained her plan and Harry thought it was stupid. So stupid it could work. Stupid in such a brilliant way only Hermione could have imagined it.

"What do you think?" asked Hermione. "We could do that during the school weekend at Hogsmeade, unless you think it's too early."

"No, it's brilliant," said Harry. "I'll write to Sirius at once."

He left Ron and Hermione to finish their homework, and headed straight to the owlery.

"Sooo, did you like it?" asked Ron tentatively.

"You're not bad at it, Ron. But try to follow my lead when I guide you," reply Hermione, and she even gave him a peck on the lips. She looked around, the library was empty. "Now, back under the table, I wasn't finished."

Ron was more than happy to oblige.


End file.
